Misguided
by Mme Curie
Summary: Connor seeks to strike a balance between managing the battle against the Templars and making room for love. Contains adult themes including violence and sexual interactions between characters. A work in progress that takes place some two years after the events of ACIII.
1. Chapter 1

1785

Day 1

The hunter sits crouched in the split of a tree trunk, watching the colors of dusk burning the cloudy sky. The light recedes, taking any remnant of the sun's warmth from the air with it and carrying the sharp smell of more snow in on the wind. A recent warm spell had melted almost all the snow in the region except for the shadowy north facing areas. That brief respite from the cold would end tonight. The hunter pulls his hood farther forward and adjusts the bow he has resting across his thighs. Rubbing his eyes and face, he ponders giving up his attempt at getting a kill this night. This time of year is always difficult because game is getting more scarce as winter resists the onset of spring. The sound of a gunshot and distant shouts earlier in the evening had probably driven any game far from this area. The human incursion into this once plentiful region is sapping the animal population to a dangerously low level. He has to travel farther and stay out longer than ever before to trap and shoot with success.

The man in the tree does not mind taking long hunting trips. He had had adventurous younger years and any attempt he has made at settling into a simpler way of life leaves him feeling anxious and restless. At times he will stay away from his village for months when his personal business takes him back to Boston, New York or other, more distant locales and he often spends time hunting just for the peace he finds in solitude. On one of his trips he had found a hunting cabin several days' hard travel from his village, hidden part way up a ravine and overlooking a waterfall. The structure appeared to have been wedged into a crevice in the rock walls of the cliff behind it, its log walls butting up to the cliff and sealed with clay. There was the look of occupancy from the curl of smoke coming from the chimney but the hunter's knocks and calls went unanswered. When he looked in one of the windows he had seen an old man sitting hunched over in a chair before the dying fire. The hunter waited to see if the man would wake but he never did and no one else showed up.

A solitary grave site in the trees now marks the final resting place of the cabin's former occupant. The hunter took the place for himself as a camp he can retreat to when he needs to spend time by himself. A hidden door in the back of the cabin conceals a natural cave where dry food and supplies are conveniently kept warm in winter and cool in summer. It is an ideal set up not only in ingenuity but also in its secluded location. Only one close friend of the hunter's is aware of his camp and had promised to retain the secret of its whereabouts.

The sun is nearly set when the hunter decides to give up. The branches of the leafless trees are creaking in the wind and snowflakes are starting to sift down from the heavy clouds. It is time to head back to his camp. He thinks on the long hike ahead of him to reach the cabin and the snow that would make the path treacherous once he reaches the steep trail leading up the gorge. As he shifts to get up and sling his bow around his body, the tight ache in his side reminds him that he is not as young as he used to be. He is only just thirty but his muscles already protest long periods spent crouched in trees and old injuries are quick to remind him of his tumultuous past. Once he gets to climbing, the pain subsides and he feels himself again. When he is almost to the bottom he pauses and listens to the wind. A noise carries to him from the south-east that sounds almost like the wail of a wildcat but eerily more human. Something about it bothers him so once he touches the ground he starts jogging in the direction it had come from. The intermittent screaming becomes louder and clearer, defining it as human. What makes him feel ill is his growing certainty that it is a woman.

The smell of fire smoke is in the air, alerting him to an occupied camp nearby. A narrow track leads through the underbrush and a dead horse lies across it, snowflakes collecting on the cold hide. Stopping briefly to examine it, the hunter observes scrape marks in the dirt and signs of a scuffle. The horse appears to have been killed by a single gunshot wound to the neck, though it seems to have been in good health at the time of its demise. There is nothing more to be learned from the animal so he continues along the path, picking up his pace to a run until the sounds of a man's shouting, accompanied by a woman's weeping, reach his ears between the screams. His heart sinks when he hears the crack of a lash preceding the next scream coming from a small cabin in the trees ahead. The hunter loosens his knife on the back of his belt, takes his hatchet out of its loop and balances the weight in his hand, looking at its unique design. The blade is cut out in the center, creating the outline of a triangle. The peak of the triangle passes through the wooden handle, ending in a spike and the wide bottom hacking blade is curved and honed to a sharp edge with two short prongs on each of the corners. A feather dangles from the handle just above his grip. It has not been necessary to involve himself in combat for some weeks but this is now an unavoidable confrontation. There is no excuse for such heinous injustice to be done to another human, especially a woman.

Two saddled horses are tied to the branch of a tree at the corner of the cabin. The hunter approaches and unloops the reins, tossing them over onto the horses' backs. He slaps them lightly on the rumps and they wander away from the cabin. The weeping coming from inside is sporadic and when the inevitable sound of the whip comes, the scream is ragged and weak. An unshaven man dressed in dark clothing steps from the cabin and the hunter conceals himself behind a tree as the man starts urinating on the wall. The door to the cabin is hanging open and the man shouts to someone inside.

"The cap'n said he might just kill her when we're done having her this time. Said she's too much trouble to keep around so we might as well get rid of her." Unintelligible words and laughter come from someone inside. The pissing man spits on the ground as he finishes up his business but freezes when he feels the touch of an icy blade on his neck. The hunter drags the detestable man away from the open door by his collar, spinning him to face away from the door. A single hit to the backs of his knees knocks him to the dirt. Before the man can raise an alarm, the hunter slits his throat and pushes him face first into the frozen ground.

At the door to the cabin, another lash pierces the air but this time there is no scream following it, nor are there any sounds of weeping. An angry voice from inside rises loudly.

"Wake up you worthless whore. Dammit, I'm not done with you yet! Wake up!" Two more whiplashes follow in close succession. There is no time to waste. The interior of the cabin is dim, lit only by the dying embers of an untended fire and a lantern on a table in the corner. The building reeks of unwashed bodies, burned food and smoke. The hunter steps over the threshold and lets his eyes adjust to the dimness. A hunched figure sits at the table with the lantern, eating something off the end of his knife. The man glances over towards where the hunter is standing in the doorway and then stands up, scraping the bit of food off his blade onto the plate and raising the knife towards the intruder.

"Who the hell are you? Get the fuck out!" When he gets no response, the man starts to walk towards the doorway but the hunter silently throws his hatchet with a smooth overhand motion, dropping the approaching man heavily to the floor. Moving quickly to the crumpled man, the hunter pulls the hatchet free of his skull and enters the adjacent room. Horrified, he stops just past the door frame, unable to move or look away from the gruesome sight before him. A woman in a torn and bloody sleeveless shift is partially hanging from a rope tied around her right wrist. The rope passes through an iron eyelet fixed to a beam in the ceiling and then is wrapped around a hook on the wall at waist height. Another rope hangs from a second, identical setup, the loop swinging empty where she possibly pulled her other hand free at some point in her suffering. The one free arm dangles, her hand inches from the floor. Both arms are covered in bloody scratches and murky bruises. Long, tangled, dark hair obscures her face and only partly conceals the torn state of her back. Her knees have buckled and there is a puddle of blood under her but the saturated hem of her skirt is obscuring where it is coming from. Though her back bleeds from her injuries, her wounds do not account for the amount of blood on the floor. A stained straw mattress lies nearby; its purpose is clearly for the further abuse and violation of the woman. Sadly, it appears he was too late to save her but at least her unspeakable suffering has ended forever. The hunter is filled with anger and disgust for what transpired here.

A noise at the far end of the room draws the hunter's attention and the light of a small lantern hanging from a hook on the far wall illuminates one side of a tall, thin man holding a coiled whip in his right hand. The light of the lantern reflects off his eyes and casts dark shadows on his face as he meets the hunter's stare with a defiant tilt to his head, his lip curling in an unspoken challenge. Hate threatens to blind the hunter as he tightens his grip on his hatchet, raising it up beside him as he moves past the woman. The man rushes him, taking a knife from his belt, but the hunter avoids him smoothly, raising his hatchet to deliver a killing blow. The man unexpectedly pulls up, blocking the hunter's swing and sweeping his legs out from under him with a slash of his whip. The hatchet skids across the floor, spinning, the handle coming to rest near the feet of the dead woman. Thinking he would be as easy a target as the other two, the hunter had badly underestimated the abilities of this man. Now consumed by a burning, righteous rage, he unsheathes his serrated hunting knife and rises to his feet, ready to grapple with his opponent.

They are fairly well matched in speed and agility, both men capable fighters. Dodging the whip, the hunter moves closer with every step, looking for an opening to dart in and slash with his knife. The man parries his attacks with skill but the hunter's greater strength and rage-fueled power steadily drives the man back toward the far wall of the cabin. In the final few feet of space, the man swings his whip and manages to wrap it around the hunter's raised left arm. Thinking he has won an advantage, he sneers in confident satisfaction. Before he can pull his whip back to strike, the hunter grabs the braided leather cord in his hand and hauls the man towards him. Suddenly in a panic, the man swings his blade but the hunter ducks, burying his hunting knife into his opponent's stomach. The man doubles over with a groan, dropping the handle of the whip and clawing at the hilt of the hunter's knife. The hunter stands and grabs the front of the man's right shoulder with his left hand, standing him up. He wrenches the knife up vertically inside his adversary before quickly extracting it and stabbing him twice more in the neck, pushing the body backwards to fall against the wall. Taking the lantern off the hook, he smashes it onto the floor next to the dead man, splashing burning oil over the body and onto the cabin walls.

Breathing hard from the encounter, the hunter unwinds the whip from his arm and wipes a spatter of the man's blood off his face. He tosses the whip onto the burning body and decides that he should at least cut the poor woman down and bury her. When he turns to retrieve his hatchet, both it and the woman are gone. His heart pounds with shock that she is still alive. There are multiple shallow marks in the wall where she hacked with poor aim at the rope close to the hook. The pool of blood that had been under her is disturbed and spread out, slip marks and handprints revealing her struggles. They shine wetly in the lurid light of the burning body behind him and leave a trail for him to follow into the first room. Streaky handprints on the wall and table reveal her weakened state. The hunter takes the lantern off the table and holds it up to illuminate the room. Dilapidated bunks and clutter take up the space but the woman is not there, only the body of the man he killed. He steps over the corpse, wipes his knife on the clothing and moves to the door, following the irregular spacing of smeared footprints on the floor. There is another bloody mark on the frame and a small amount of dark blood in the dirt. The snow is falling at a steady rate and he knows he has to find the woman soon before her marks are obliterated. He sheathes the knife against his back, tosses the lantern into the center of the foul room behind him and walks away as the fuel ignites the bedding of the bunks.

The hunter carefully follows the intermittent trail of blood in the weak light of the clouded moon towards a small hill near the cabin where a large boulder is partly hidden among the trees. He assumed she would make for the woods but her trail is extraordinarily easy to follow. As he gets to the hill her trail changes, becoming a wide path of disturbed leaves. It appears she had fallen and started crawling. Another smear of blood on the side of the boulder marks where she must be hiding. He wasn't fighting the last man for long and she couldn't have gotten far in her state, especially if she is no longer able to walk. A fine white mist drifts from the other side of the boulder and relief fills him that she is there. Intentionally allowing his approach to be heard, his feet make crunching noises as he walks up the hill over dried leaves and crispy fresh snowfall. As he rounds the boulder the woman's knees come into sight. She is sitting on the leafy ground, leaning her left shoulder against the rock face with her head hanging down. When the hunter squats down in front of her she rears back with his hatchet in her hand. She lets out a hoarse shout as she swings his weapon towards his head. Calmly, he raises his left hand and catches her arm, stopping her swing before she is anywhere near hitting him. Her eyes widen in shock and she braces her left hand against the center of his chest and pushes while trying to free her other arm from his hand. Her fear and effort show in her face and in the throaty sounds she is making as she strains against his grip. A wide trail of dried blood crusts her chin and neck below her bottom lip which is deeply split and swollen. When she fails to free herself she claws desperately at his face, scratching him down his cheek and onto his neck before he can stop her.

Her fear rapidly escalates into panic as she fights his hold. She thrashes wildly against his grip and starts screaming.

"Leave me alone! Let me go! Let go!" The hunter tries to talk to the woman but her hoarse, gravelly shrieks drown out anything he attempts to say. Reluctantly, he decides to restrain her further before she smashes her head against the rock in her struggles. He pulls her away from the boulder by her forearms and she tries desperately to resist, screaming and bracing her knees but she is a small woman and he easily subdues her. A long length of the rope that held her is still tied to her wrist and it trails behind her as the hunter brings her to the side as gently as possible while she twists against his hands. He presses her down on her back, raising her arms up on either side of her head. When her back touches the frozen ground her screams become harsh, wordless and agonized until her voice gives out completely. She kicks her legs and tosses her head from side to side, her mouth open in a soundless yell. The hunter straddles her waist to avoid being kicked and puts the tops of his feet just above her knees to hold her legs down. Her strength lasts only moments longer, as she is weak, exhausted and in terrible pain from the trials she has already been through.

She finally lays limp and quiet, her head turned away from the hunter's gaze. Her breathing is heavy and rapid from her exertions and the mist from her breath mingles with the hunter's as he assesses her state. Her face is puffy on one side from a nasty strike and he assumes from the type of people that held her it was a closed fist. Rings of finger shaped bruises and red marks cover her neck and arms. Her wrists are rubbed raw from rope burns and her palms and the bottoms of her forearms are marred by long, lengthwise scratches and dried blood as if she had fallen or had been dragged. The front of her filthy shift is ripped open down the middle almost all the way to her waist, exposing bruises on the curving inner sides of her small breasts. Despite her ragged and injured state she is very pretty and he wonders how she ended up a prisoner in this cabin out here in the woods, miles from anywhere. In the silence of the snowy night somewhere in the distance, the hunter hears the two horses he freed crashing farther away through the forest, no doubt reacting to the smoke of the fire he started.

The woman's heart is racing and her back is burning from her weight pressing into the hard ground. The man holding her down is looking at her body and she wonders when he is going to start raping her now that she has stopped fighting him. The metallic taste of blood is on her tongue from reopening the cut on her lip, adding to her already rising nausea.

"Please do not try to hit me with my tomahawk again." The woman turns her head to face the man when he speaks. His voice is smooth and low. He articulates his words carefully, almost slowly, in a distinctive manner. Most of the man's face is cast in shadow from the hood he wears pulled far forward on his head, leaving only his mouth and chin fully visible. He has blood spattered across his massive chest and arms, a few drops dotting one of the beaded armbands tied high on each of his jacket sleeves. The top end of a bow extends beyond his left shoulder, the string crossing his chest diagonally and a quiver full of blue or grey fletched arrows is just visible behind his head. Her heart continues to race in fear. He is a killer; she had almost fallen over the two bodies at the cabin when she was escaping. What does he want? She wishes he had just killed the men and let her free. If he wants her for himself, why doesn't he just take her already?

"Let me go. Please." She can barely whisper through her swollen lip and aching throat.

"I want to help you. I am letting go of you now." He releases his grip on her arms, sits back and raises his hands, palms facing her. She stays still, wondering if he is going to hit her or if this is some cruel game he is playing with her. Moving slowly, he shifts over to kneel at her side and she feels better without him straddling her and pinning her down so completely. She lifts her left hand from the dirt and reaches down to the tear in her clothing, pulling it closed over her breasts. The man moves his hands to his hood and pulls it back. The light of the burning cabin shines on his face, revealing dark skinned Indian features, a wide jawline, dark eyes, and black hair that falls to just past his chin. A single thin, beaded braid hangs from one side of his head and the top section of his hair is pulled back into a short ponytail. The scratches she gave him have left two trails of shining blood that curve from the side of his cheek, under his jaw and around to the front of his neck. They disappear under the front edge of his jacket. He is a giant of a man who looks fierce and extremely dangerous despite his offer to help.

"My name is Ratonhnhake:ton, but you can call me Connor. I am not going to harm you. Try to sit up. We need to get you someplace safe." Connor extends his hand towards the frightened woman and she flinches, pulling the hatchet to her chest facing him edge out and gripping it in both hands awkwardly. If she wasn't so terrified, he would laugh at the useless way she thinks she could defend herself.

"I promise I will not hurt you. Keep my tomahawk for now if it makes you feel better but this storm will be worse soon and you will not survive without my help." He rises to a crouched position with one knee on the ground and again reaches toward her. The woman finally shifts her body, reaching one hand back to push herself up to a sitting position, grimacing in pain. Even this is excruciating for her but she stubbornly shies away from his proffered assistance so he stands and watches as she somehow manages to get herself to her feet. She is favoring her left foot badly and it is seeping blood. She must have some kind of wound on it for it to be bleeding so much. The woman braces her hands against the boulder behind her and she appears to be steeling herself for more movement. She clutches the hatchet just below the blade and swallows, baring her bloodstained teeth at him when he motions with his fingers for her to come closer.

The woman can't believe this is happening. He seems to be concerned for her but she has no way to be sure. He looks savage and formidable where he stands in the light of the fire, looking down at her. Maybe he will rape and kill her later. Thinking clearly has become a chore and the pain in her body is making her confusion worse. The longer she stands the more the world spins around her. The cold has numbed her foot slightly and she considers running from him. No. He would catch her in a moment. Lord, he is so tall…. Her thoughts are mixed up and not making any sense. Closing her eyes, she tries to clear her head and stop the spinning. When she opens them he is still standing there looking at her with his arm out. He doesn't seem to be giving any indication of leaving without her. She takes a breath and decides to just go with him since she has nothing left to lose anymore. She moves her left foot forward and slowly lowers it down. The pain is like a strike of lightening shooting up her leg when she puts weight on it. Her knee buckles and the man is on her again! He has her by her left arm and she wrenches her body sideways to free herself, dropping the hatchet and scrabbling at his fingers with her right hand. If she still had a voice, she would have been screaming but like the worst kind of nightmare, only a ragged, breathy noise comes out. Her right foot slips toward him on the loose leaves, the sudden shift in balance making her body swing in an arc away from the boulder. Throwing her right arm out, she tries to grab hold of the ground but her fingers only turn up leaves and small rocks which give her no purchase. He holds on until she stops pivoting and then lowers her down to the ground and releases her arm. She twists her upper body to face the ground and bows her forehead down to her hands, panting. The hatchet is just out of reach and she frantically crawls to it and snatches it in both hands, looking back over her shoulder at the man.

Connor watches the woman as she casts an almost feral look at him from where she lies on her belly in the dirt clutching the weapon. He sighs in frustration at the woman's willful insistence on resisting help despite her very thorough incapacitation.

"Listen to me. You have to let me carry you. If you do not let me help you, you _will_ freeze to death tonight. Is that what you want?" Connor immediately wishes he hadn't spoken so harshly. The prostrate woman makes a choking sound in her throat and looks like she is going to vomit as she pulls her knees up under her body. Connor closes his eyes and shakes his head. He takes a step closer and crouches down to her, trying to make eye contact. Her left hand strays to the ripped portion of her shift and she clasps the frayed edges together with a shaking grasp.

"I am sorry. I know you have been through a lot. I am begging you to believe me when I say that will not hurt you." The woman stares at his face for a long time, shivering now as snowflakes collect in her hair. He nods at her once in encouragement and she squeezes her eyes shut and bows her head. How much worse could things get? At least he is only one man and not three... If he does rape her she is no worse off than she was only a short time ago. Her bottom lip quivers for a moment but she presses her lips together and decides not to give up on a chance to live just yet.

"Alright." she whispers, looks of resignation and determination crossing her face in turn. Connor pulls his hood up and extends his hands to her. She leans away from them and takes a deep, quavering breath. Slowly, she releases her hold on her torn shift and reaches her left hand toward him. He lightly wraps his fingers around her elbow and gestures with his left hand for her to give him her other arm. The hatchet shakes in her grip as she raises her hand toward him and she becomes rigid as a stone when his fingers touch her skin. He extends his arm out, sliding his palm along the underside of her forearm until he reaches her elbow. The woman watches his hand moving up her arm with a horrified look on her face, as if he were a venomous snake poised to bite. He closes his fingers around her elbow and draws her arm towards him.

"We need to stand up." The man has both of her arms now and the world is spinning so rapidly before her eyes that the frightened woman knows she cannot stand again alone. For just a moment, she turns her face and meets his eyes, giving her assent by closing the fingers of her left hand on the fabric of his sleeve. A wave of nausea rolls over her and she looks away. She finds that she can control her dizziness better if she just focuses on one thing and at the moment it is the patterned band around his upper arm. His hands close tighter around her elbows and he stands slowly, lifting her up with him and allowing her to adjust her balance on her uninjured foot, stabilizing her when she falters.

"I am going to pick you up now. Are you ready?" She starts to pull back from him but then stops, touching the tip of her tongue to her bleeding lip. In the darkness, her nod is almost imperceptible. The muscles in her forearm tense under Connor's hand as she clenches the handle of his tomahawk. He steps closer and moves his hands to her wrists, raising her arms up and placing them around his neck. With only her hands so high, her body is almost touching his. She keeps her head twisted away from his face as much as possible, her expression a contorted combination of terror and hopeless desperation. Connor gathers the rope dangling from her wrist and loops it around the back of his neck and over his shoulder to the front. The woman starts trembling as he reaches around her body and places his right hand on her right shoulder blade. She inhales sharply and flinches away, only to bump against his chest. Her eyes squeeze shut as Connor replaces his hand on her and she shudders under his touch, a restrained sob of fear escaping her. He bends to scoop her knees up and she gasps out in pain as her weight shifts onto his arm. She clutches at the back of his hood, a corner of the hatchet jabbing into his shoulder as she tries to arch her back off of his arm.

"I am sorry. I know this hurts. I will do my best not to make it worse but we have a long trip ahead of us." The woman bows her head and nods, panting through clenched teeth. Connor starts walking but despite his best efforts her erratic breathing gives away her horrible discomfort. He wishes he had the horses from the cabin but he hadn't wanted to take the risk of anyone escaping to raise an alarm.

The woman lowers her head against the man's shoulder and tries to breathe slowly, focusing on anything but her pain and dizziness. The smell of wood smoke and leather come from his clothes, combined with wet fabric and the peppery, green scent of his body. The raw skin on her back chafes against his sleeve and she tries to pull herself off his arm whenever she can. Over time, her arms grow shaky from the effort and she has to lay back. The man continually turns his head to look at her but the misty fog from his breathing often obscures her view of his face in the moments when she can focus through the pain, making it impossible to read his expression. She is incredibly cold and can no longer control her shivering; her teeth chatter loudly and her muscles feel frayed, adding to her pain. Finally she can no longer pull herself off his arm and waves of pain unceasingly wash over her body.

Some time later, Connor feels her grip around his neck weakening and she is fighting yet failing to keep her head up. Her warm exhalations misting into the cold night lessen in frequency as her shivering abates, giving him even greater cause to worry. The hand holding the hatchet slips into her lap and shortly after, her other arm drops behind him. Her head falls back but when he shakes her she picks it weakly back up again.

"Stay awake. You must not fall asleep." Connor shifts her so her head rests against his shoulder better but when she eventually loses consciousness it tips back again and her right hand slips from under the tomahawk on her lap, her arm dangling loosely from her shoulder. Melting snowflakes collect into beads of water on her skin that run down her arms, neck and chest. He shakes her to try to wake her up but all he gets from her is a quiet moan. Her long hair is soaked from the heavy snowfall and the bottom edges that are hanging down are frozen and scraping against his leg as he walks. Connor debates whether he should stop and try to wrap her in his jacket but it would take so much time to rearrange all his gear that he fears he would lose his window of safety for the climb to the cabin. Despite the near white-out conditions, he has been making good time and decides to press on. He kneels to readjust her limp body, tucking her arms in against her abdomen and sliding his tomahawk into its place on his belt. Lifting her higher against his chest when he stands back up, she doesn't even react, her head lolling against his neck and the only indication of life being the intermittent hazy warmth of her shallow breathing. Fortunately she is not very heavy and he wonders how long it has been since she has eaten a good meal. He can feel every rib under his fingers.

Connor starts jogging, knowing that she is beyond feeling any pain now and he just needs to get her warm as soon as possible. The snow is now to his ankles and all he can think of is the final climb. The path he takes brings them alongside a river and a cliff wall rises on the opposite bank. Before long, the trail leading up the gorge comes into sight and he slows down to catch his breath and prepare himself for the climb. If he slips now, his efforts will have been pointless. Connor stops again to shift the woman onto his right shoulder and uses the rope to pull her right arm over so he can grasp her cold hand tightly next to his neck. Her hip bone is sharp against his shoulder and neck and digs in harder when he loops his arm across the backs of her thighs to hold her securely in place. Connor picks his way carefully up the steep trail and by the time he reaches the door to his cabin, he is sweating. Steam rises from his body and he hopes some of his heat has transferred to the lifeless woman he carries.

Inside the cabin, Connor carefully lowers the woman off his shoulder and eases her onto her back in front of the fireplace. He stoops over her, looking for signs of life. Her lips are blue and if not for feeling her breath on his skin, she looks dead to him for the second time in just a few hours. The dark remnants from this morning's fire are cold so he stirs the ash and digs up a few orange embers from the very bottom that he coaxes to ignite some kindling. Once the fire takes, he removes his dripping belt, bow, quiver, jacket and boots, sets the clothing items to dry near the fire and retrieves the top blanket off his bed. The woman's shift is soaking wet and sticking to her skin and can see her whole body through the translucent fabric. His eyes are drawn to her curving hips and small, shapely breasts, her hard nipples dark beneath the fabric. He tries not to look, feeling almost like he is raping her himself because she hasn't consented to let him see her like this.

Connor pulls her up by her shoulders to get the blanket under her. He holds her against his chest with one arm and positions the blanket on the floor under her body before easing her back down, cradling her head with his hand and scooping her wet hair to the side so she isn't lying on it. One side of her torn shift has folded open, revealing the alabaster white skin of a softly curved breast and the pink edge of an areola. A large purple thumb shaped bruise stands out among the smaller bruises, marring her delicate skin halfway between her nipple and breast bone. Connor clenches his teeth, feeling his hatred for her captors bubbling to the surface again. How could anyone use their superior strength to harm a woman for sexual satisfaction? He reaches for the torn edge to cover her up and notices more discolorations on her breasts showing through the fabric. His hand shakes as he looks down the length of her, seeing more than just her shape through the fabric this time. Her body is covered with bruises, most of them on her arms, breasts and the tops of her thighs. The marks on her neck seem recent, carrying a more reddish purple tinge than the other bruises. She only seems to have the one nasty one on her face but it too has darkened into a dusky shade of purple and caused more swelling along her jaw and split lip. He doesn't want to think about the places he can't see as he flips the folded piece of her shift over to cover her.

Connor reaches for his belt, takes his tomahawk out of its loop and places the handle into her cold palm, curling her slender fingers around it before wrapping the blanket over her. He kneels by her feet and starts rubbing her lower legs and ankles to get circulation back in them. Her skin is ghostly pale and icy cold. There is a deep lengthwise slash on the sole of her left foot that is still seeping dark blood onto the floorboards. The fire is roaring and Connor is uncomfortably hot but he wants to make sure the woman's feet aren't frozen. Her whole body resumes its spastic shaking as it tries to regenerate her massive heat deficit. She moans hoarsely and moves her head. Within a few more minutes, she is trying to withdraw her feet from him. Connor decides that she is showing enough pain response that her feet didn't freeze and leaves her alone to wake up. He pulls the blanket down over her legs and brings a pillow from his bed for her, gently lifting her head and sliding it under, her teeth chattering so hard he can feel it through her skull. He thinks about cutting the rope off her wrist but then imagines the scene if she wakes up and sees him holding a knife over her. Instead, he collects some medicinal herbs from his travel bag and some cloth rags and starts heating water by the fire. He hears her moan again and when he turns to check on her she is opening her eyes and wincing in pain, still shivering uncontrollably.

Her feet are burning; they must be buried in hot coals for them to hurt this badly, especially the left one. Her body is so cold she can't stop trembling and her teeth chatter loudly in her head. Opening her eyes, she realizes that she is wrapped in a blanket and she is lying inside a cabin. In a panic, she thrashes herself to a sitting position, pain shooting through her back and feet and the blanket falls off her shoulders. Her sodden hair is cold when it falls against her back. That Indian man, what was his name? Connor? He is crouched by the fire watching her. Moving her hands to touch her clothing, she finds it wet but still there and the hatchet rests against her leg. She grabs the handle in her hand and squeezes it. Her hair drips water and it sticks to her arms, making the blanket damp around her. The man watches her as she pulls the blanket back up and wraps it tightly around herself while fumbling to hold the hatchet. Her shivers come in powerful waves.

"You are safe here," he says to her, his eyes glowing in the firelight.

"When you warm up more, I will need to clean that gash on your foot." He returns his attention to poking at some things in a bowl of water by the fire. The wind rattles against the windows across the room from her, the sound merging with the crackling of the fire. Looking around, she observes her surroundings. The log cabin they occupy isn't very big; a single room. The only access door is to the left of the fireplace where she is sitting. There is a window on the other side of the stone chimney. Opposite the wall with the fireplace is a large bed centered against the rear of the cabin. To the left of the bed is a chair and some open space; to the right is a small shelf that connects to an entire row of low shelves along the adjoining wall filled with various household items, a few books and not much else. Above the shelving are two small windows spaced evenly on the wall. The fourth wall opposite the shelves has a small table with an unlit lantern on it centered along the windowless wall. Two chairs sit by the table, one pushed in and the other at an angle facing the fireplace. It is a sparse living place but it is clean and well kept, unlike the previous cabin she had spent time in.

After a few minutes, Connor gets up and ignites a piece of kindling, brings it to the table and lights the lantern. When it is glowing brightly he carries it over and places it beside her ankles. He sits down and crosses his legs by her feet, moving the bowl of water closer. Looking at her, he gestures to the bowl.

"These are herbs in warm water for cleaning your wounds and to help you heal but I have to touch you to use them." He starts slowly reaching towards her legs and she lets him take her feet up across his lap, bending her legs at the knees and scooting himself forward a little more. His brow creases as he examines her left foot by the light of the lantern. The burning pain has faded and it only hurts when he touches the slash on her foot. His hands and the rag he is using feel overly hot on her cold skin as he washes the dirt from her foot and raw ankle. She tries to hold in her pain but she still flinches when he wipes her wound with the rag. She watches the man as he lightly holds her foot and ankle in his large, dark hands. There is a scar on his right cheek just above the scratches she gave him earlier. He looks over at her from time to time as he is working and now that he is cast in brighter light, he doesn't seem to be as heavily featured as the few Indians she had seen before.

He finishes cleaning out her foot and puts some warm steeped leaves on her wound, wrapping her foot tightly in rags. The pressure hurts at first but the pain resolves into stinging as her foot becomes warmer. He picks up her right foot, inspects it and gently cleans it before letting it back down again. Connor leans towards her and she panics at his unexpected approach, falling backwards onto her elbows and grimacing in pain. The hatchet falls off her lap and clangs against the wooden floor loudly.

"I just want to see your wrists," and he holds his hand out to her. She reaches her right hand to his and he takes it and gently pulls her back up into a sitting position again. His hand is warm and despite the revulsion she feels at his physical contact, the heat feels better than the cold. She tugs the blanket up over herself with her left hand while Connor turns her palm up and switches her hand into his left, his fingers across the back of her hand and his thumb over her palm. Tilting her hand back slightly, he plucks at the knotted wet rope still tied around her wrist.

Blue veins show through her raw, nearly transparent skin, the dark scratches up the underside of her forearm standing out and appearing almost black. Her hand is freezing and the tremors of her shivering body transfer through her arm to him.

"I cannot untie this. I need to cut it." He picks up a small knife that she hadn't seen before and brings it towards her wrist. She hisses and pulls her hand away but he keeps his hold on her, turning his body and extending his arm to match her movement. When all she accomplishes is pulling him closer to her she stills.

"I am not going to hurt you." He meets her eyes and when she lets him draw her hand back he carefully slides the blade under the rope and cuts it off with a sawing motion. When he releases her hand she retracts it quickly to her body and pulls the blanket more fully over herself as she tries to settle her nausea.

"I told you I will not hurt you." He puts the knife at his side again and gathers up the length of rope, tugging it out from under her leg and tossing it into the fire where it sizzles and hisses before curling orange in the flames and burning to ash. He holds his hand out again and she slowly extends her arm to him so he can clean her cuts and reddened wrist with the warm water. Though his hand is large enough to completely cover hers, his touch is light. He reaches higher with the rag and cups the inside of her elbow in his hand, holding her fingers gently in his other as he softly wipes her forearm scratches with a pulling motion towards her wrist. The water stings her arm but the warmth permeates her skin and sends tingles up her arm. Each time he runs the cloth down her arm, more dried blood and grime come off, revealing her pale skin and horrid bruises. She is shocked at how filthy she is, not having noticed it when she had been in the clutches of those men. She is less hesitant when he finishes and gives him her other hand more willingly. He smiles at her encouragingly and repeats his gentle ablutions. When he is done he shifts her legs off his lap and looks at her.

"Your lip is cut. I would like to look at it." She doesn't move or speak so Connor takes the bowl of water and the lantern and moves up towards her side slowly. He sits back on his heels and reaches for her face with his left hand. She slightly shakes her head and turns away.

"Please, let me look at you." She turns her face back and allows him to reach the rest of the way toward her and lightly pull her swollen lip down with his thumb to examine the cut. He lifts the rag with his other hand, squeezes it over the bowl and brings it towards her face but she grasps his wrist in her hand, stopping him. After a moment, she relaxes but keeps her hand on his wrist as he brings the rag to her face. She flinches when he places it on her lips, holding it so it only covers the bloodied portion. He cups the uninjured right side of her face in his left hand and she meets his eyes.

Connor's face is close to hers and he can almost smell her fear. The hand holding his wrist trembles and he admires her willpower. Her neck is rigid with tension, she is breathing shallowly and he knows she wants nothing more than distance between them yet she is allowing him to hold the cloth against her. When he starts to dab at her lip she tightens her grip on his wrist but relaxes again after a moment. Once the cut is clean, he softly wipes the blood from her chin and down her neck but when he nears her collarbones she suddenly pushes hard at his wrist, twisting her head away from his hand. He leans back away from her.

"I will not touch you anymore." He gets up and opens the cabin door to empty the bowl. When he returns to the fire he refills the bowl with warm water and places a new cloth within her reach.

"If you wish to clean up more, you can. I will prepare something to eat." Gathering the other items, he takes the lantern and leaves her alone while he goes to the back of the cabin and pulls open a hidden door on the wall beside the bed. He stays back there for some time and she can hear him moving things around. Painfully, she shifts her body until she is kneeling facing the fire and lowers the blanket off her shoulders. She uses the rag to finish washing her face but avoids her swollen lip, as it feels raw from Connor's attention. The remaining blood crusted to her neck comes off easily and she carefully wipes down her upper arms. Warmth radiates into her sore muscles and she pulls her wet hair to the side and holds the rag to the back of her neck for a moment before running it down her chest and under the torn edges of her shift. Her shivering seems to be letting up and she closes her eyes and lets the heat of the fire warm her face while listening for any sign of the man coming back. Her eyes feel gritty from exhaustion and tension.

Connor stops at the doorway on his way back into the cabin and watches as the woman presses the rag to her neck. She has dropped the blanket from her shoulders and as she continues to wash he can see the full length of her back facing him. Her shift is ripped in several places across her back, and one rip in particular that traverses the length of her torso diagonally is steeped in blood that has stained its way to her waist. He hadn't seen how deeply her skin was cut by the whipping she had gotten when he first saw her at the cabin. Reddened skin and bloody gashes are visible through the tears in her shift, especially the big one. The slash starts at the top of her right shoulder and travels in a wide arc down to her left hip. Her skin isn't torn along the entire length of the slash but enough of it is that it must be incredibly painful for her to move at all. No wonder she could not tolerate contact to her back. The woman suddenly becomes very still and then starts feeling for the hatchet by her side. She was probably listening to the noises he was making so he rattles the things in his hands and shuffles among some items on a shelf before casually walking out and shutting the door behind him with his foot. The woman pulls the blanket back up as he walks toward her and he makes sure he gives her a lot of room when he starts cooking up some boiled grains. She turns herself so she is facing him again as he cooks.

"You killed the one with the whip?" Her hoarse voice startles him and he looks over at her.

"Yes. No one will ever hurt you like that again." Nodding, she turns her face towards the fire, making it clear she is done talking. Connor seasons the grains and pours hot water into a mug, sprinkling dried chamomile and a few weak pain relieving herbs into it, hoping that the tea will help her relax. He puts the mug and a bowl of the grains with a spoon down next to her and then retreats to the table to eat. He watches her while he eats and is relieved when she eventually takes up her mug and sips from it, holding the warm stone vessel with both her hands, sometimes just touching it to her face. She watches him out of the corners of her light eyes like a trapped, feral creature, reflections of the fire moving in them. Hunger gets the better of her at last and she exchanges the mug for the bowl. Even eating appears painful for her because of her cut lip and bruised cheek.

Connor gathers up the cooking and washing items and tidies up the small cabin while the woman continues to slowly eat, her eyes following him everywhere. He considers waiting to take the empty bowl from her but decides to just give her space. At the back of the room he takes off his shirt, gets into his bed and snuffs the lantern. After a long time the woman places her mug and bowl to the side of the fireplace and peeks over her shoulder at him. He closes his eyes and pretends to be asleep. Gingerly, she lies down on her side and tucks her knees up tightly to her chest. The hatchet clinks quietly on the floor as she shifts it where she wants it. Her arm moves out from under the blanket and it looks like she is wiping a tear. He doesn't blame her for crying after what she has been through and he is shocked she had not earlier.

The woman can't help but wonder what will become of her. Is she really safe, like he says she is? Tears sting her eyes and she wishes she were dead instead of the prisoner of this man now, no matter how kind he seems to be. He killed three men this night and he could easily kill her as well.

She eventually falls into a fitful sleep, plagued by whimpers and starts. Connor gets up and takes her bowl from in front of the fire. He longs to pick her up and put her in his bed so she can sleep on a soft mattress instead of the hard floor but it would only terrify her and cause her more in the process. Instead, he returns to the storage area and rummages in his accumulated collection of hides and furs, pulling out a large bear hide. He drapes it fur side down over her to help her stay warm. Her hair has mostly dried and her dark curls and waves are in a pile along her back and over her shoulder. Returning to his bed, Connor restlessly thinks about the strange way his day has ended.


	2. Chapter 2

Day 2

The morning sun is brightly shining through the windows of the cabin when the sound of footsteps wakes the woman from her painful position on the hard floor. Her bladder feels like it is going to explode. She stirs uncomfortably and struggles to move her numb arm out from under her body. Every movement is drenched in burning agony. Unable to withhold the groan that escapes her when the skin of her back is subjected to even the minutest shifts of her shoulders, she clenches her teeth and lies limply on the floor, gasping. The long hair of the weighty black fur pelt covering her ruffles in her exhalation, tickling her face, yet she refrains from moving her arm to stop it. Out of the corner of her eye she catches movement and when she turns her head she sees Connor standing next to his bed pulling a shirt on over his bare torso. Three black, diagonal tattooed lines punctuated by downward facing triangles follow the angle of his ribcage traversing the right side of his body in an artful interpretation of parallel bleeding scratches. Below the tattoos is a huge, round, puckered scar on the side of his stomach; it appears he was shot or stabbed by something. When he notices her watching him he hurriedly finishes pulling his shirt down. He walks over to pick something up off the table and then comes to the fireplace and crouches down an arm's length away. In his hand is a mug of some kind of tea and he offers it to her, placing it on the floor within her reach.

"It will help with the pain." She fights through her discomfort and slowly pushes her aching body up to a sitting position to take the mug in her hands. Uncomfortable at his closeness, she does not raise her eyes from her hands holding the tea. The contents of the cup consist of a pale brew with a collection of leaves sitting on the bottom. It has a strong herbal scent and when the woman takes a tiny sip, it is bitter and sharp tasting. She grimaces and holds the mug away, covering her mouth with the back of one hand.

"It tastes bad but it will help you." Connor presses his fingertips against the side of the vessel and guides it back toward her before getting up and walking toward the table. She takes a few more sips, trying not to taste the odd flavor. The result of drinking is another painful urge to urinate and she puts the mug down on the floor.

"Connor…" He turns to face her when she says his name. Her voice is clear and soft, unlike the previous evening when it was hoarse and ragged. He returns to her side and squats down, looking at her eyes. They are a striking blue-grey in the daylight, framed by long, dark, curling lashes. The color reminds him of the sea on an overcast day. She pulls the blanket around her tightly and winces at the pressure against her back. A square of sunlight crosses partially over her from the window, illuminating russet undertones in her hair.

"I need to… use the privy..." she drops her head and looks at the floor, ashamed to have to mention such private needs. Connor does not seem perturbed by her statement.

"There is an outhouse outside. The snow is deep but if you think you can walk I will wrap your feet." He stands up, near enough to help if necessary but lets her get herself up, remembering her reaction the last time he tried to take her arm. Seeing her pain clearly on her face as she moves, he has to press his arms to his sides to keep from reaching out to help her. The tomahawk is just visible under the bear fur on the floor. She holds onto the stone around the fireplace with one hand, clutching the blanket with the other and carefully tries to put weight on her left foot. After several determined but unsuccessful attempts to bear any weight on it, accompanied by increasingly frustrated sighs and winces, she takes a shaking breath and looks up at Connor. He wasn't expecting her to be able to walk, considering how deep the wound on her foot was. The herbs help healing and reduce the likelihood of infection but they aren't a magical potion.

"Just give me a minute." He goes to the door and puts on his jacket and tall fringed boots before coming back to where she is standing. He bends down and picks up the hatchet, offering it to her handle first, his fingers looped through the open portion of the blade. The woman's position against the fireplace allows her to lean against it and reach her left hand out toward the weapon. Doubt and suspicion fill her heart and her hand hovers over the curved wooden handle. The feather attached to it dangles in the space between them, spinning in the air. Connor is watching her face when she raises her eyes to his and she seizes the hatchet from him with a furtive flash of her hand. His expression does not change when she lowers the weapon under her blanket but his eyes seem to pierce deeper into her and his empty hand remains partly extended toward her. His irises are an unusual dark golden amber and convey a vast amount of unspoken things that she cannot decipher.

"Whenever you are ready." He extends his arms towards her, his hands turned palm up. Holding the blanket closed at her neck with her right hand, she reaches her left, still gripping the weapon tightly, to his arm. He guides her hand up to his shoulder, steps closer to her and then picks her up with his arm under her buttocks instead of putting his arm around her waist. He presses one hand against her side to stabilize her. She holds herself up with her arm around his shoulders, her tense position bringing her face close to his neck. The scratch she gave him is before her eyes, a double trail of red on his face and neck starting just below the old scar on his cheekbone. She again can't help but notice the smoky, piney, masculine scent of his skin and the subtle aroma of the herbed water she had bathed with last night.

He carries her to the door and when he opens it, the roar of falling water fills the air. The sun on the snow is blindingly bright after the comparative darkness of the cabin. Connor ducks slightly as he passes through the door but the woman instinctively lowers her head anyway, her cheek brushing against his hair. In the time it takes for Connor to close the door behind him and reach the end of the small covered porch, her eyes have adjusted to the light. The porch overlooks a rocky gorge with a waterfall cascading from high above on the opposite side. The gorge is cavernous and the water falls down beyond the view from the porch. A deep bass rumbling far below can be felt through the ground, though the snow muffles it partly and it is further dispersed by Connor's body. If not for her sickening nausea at his physical contact and her being trapped in this isolated place with him, she might have enjoyed the view.

Being up against him is stretching the woman's nerves almost to breaking and her heart is racing. She feels helpless and vulnerable despite holding the hatchet in her hand. He could overpower her regardless of whether she is armed or not and she knows he is aware of that, given how he handed her the hatchet so nonchalantly. Maybe his intent is to make her feel safer but it only underscores that he is more than capable of stopping her if she attacks him. Turning her head away from Connor's face, she takes in the area surrounding the cabin. Just a few hundred square feet of treeless open space encircle the sides of the cabin not abutting the cliff face before the woods close in. A long, winding indent in the snow along the edge of the gorge leading down and out of sight among the trees far below marks the only trail to the cabin. He carried her all the way up that treacherous route to this place. How long was she unconscious? She only vaguely remembers being in among trees while he carried her on flat ground. There had been no indication of water anywhere nearby except for the silent, freezing snowfall and she still struggles to believe that his motives are genuine.

Connor reaches down and pulls the woman's right leg up from behind her knee, holding it against his hip. It startles her and she lets out a choking squeak of panic. Her body stiffens as she resists his hold on her. Muscles in the side of her thigh contract convulsively beneath his hand as she tries to lower her leg. He releases her leg and sets her down on the porch. Stumbling backwards, she crashes into the side of the cabin wall, only barely breaking the impact with her arm. Somehow she stays standing but she is stricken with fear, casting her eyes from side to side. A single bare footprint in front of the blanket wrapped woman is dark on the lightly sifted snow coating the weathered boards of the porch.

"I want to keep your feet out of the snow. Unless I put you over my shoulder or carry you with your back against my arm, you will need to put your legs around me." If not for her awful need and injured foot the woman would have fled back into the cabin. She hardens her heart toward her roiling emotions and bitter, rising nausea. Connor seems to understand her resolve and approaches her, bending down so she can put her arm around his neck again. He reaches behind her and cautiously picks her up. Wanting to weep, the woman wraps her legs around his waist and suffers the feel of his hand on the side of her thigh. She closes her eyes but images of her captors holding her down and forcing her legs apart fill her mind and she reopens them quickly, choosing instead to watch the fresh tracks Connor makes as he forges a path through the snow away from the tiny cabin. The snow reaches almost up to his knees but he moves quickly towards a small structure partly hidden by some trees. He kicks the snow to clear an area in front of the door to the outhouse and then sets her down lightly, his arm sliding over her backside as he releases her. The ground is icy under her right foot and she reluctantly grips his arm for a moment to steady her balance. When she does, his hand closes over her elbow and she has to fight against her instinct to jerk away. The last thing she needs is to be struggling in the snow, panicking with a full bladder. To her surprise, Connor releases her almost immediately, as if he had burned himself. He turns his body and gestures with his left arm.

"I will be over by the cliff there. When you come out I will return." He walks away and she pulls the door open, hops awkwardly inside and shuts herself in, sliding the handle of the hatchet through the pull on the door. She covers her face and almost sobs as she finally empties her aching bladder. When she limps back out, Connor is filling a bucket by the cliff with chunks of ice that had formed from a rivulet of frozen water running down the cliff wall. She closes the door hard enough to make a noise, afraid to call out to him. At the sound of the door, Connor turns and strides over to carry her back to the cabin. Without hesitation, she raises her arm up to him so he can lift her and she compliantly holds on with her legs. Her only goal is to get the process over with as soon as possible. Inside, she sinks to her hands and knees on the fur with relief when he puts her down, her hair falling forward over her shoulders and covering her hands on the floor. Once he is not in physical contact with her, she manages to calm her racing heart. Her back is stinging and aching badly and she does her best to hide her discomfort as she raises herself off her hands and sits back on her heels.

Connor refills her mug of the bitter drink and offers her a bowl with more of the boiled grains and some smoked meat to eat. She takes it from his hands, only looking at his face for a moment before turning away. The woman is an enigma to him, wresting away one moment and acquiescing the next while retaining the same fear and distrust in her eyes. He sits at the table, leaving her to her thoughts for a while. After several minutes of almost complete silence, broken only by the scrape of their utensils on the edge of the bowls as they eat, he tries to get her to converse.

"What can I call you? I do not know your name." She regards him from her place by the fire, holding the spoon halfway between the bowl in her hand and her bruised face.

"Catherine." She keeps her voice quiet.

"Catherine." He repeats her name and looks carefully at her, as if physically attaching her name to her face.

"Where are you from?"

"New York." Catherine doesn't offer anything more and they pass several more minutes in silence. Connor looks around the room and runs his finger along the edge of the table restlessly.

"Catherine, I am going to go out hunting. I will be gone for at least two or three hours." He gestures to a mortar full of crushed dried herbs, a bowl and the large pot of water beside the fireplace. "You can use whatever you need for yourself." Catherine nods acknowledgment and Connor puts his bow, quiver and his sturdy belt on over his jacket. He tucks a large hunting knife into a sheath on the back of his belt and reaches to his hip only to touch an empty loop. He briefly glances at her and then goes out, returning after only a minute with the bucket of ice chunks, which he sets by the fireplace before leaving again.

Once she is alone, Catherine decides to act on Connor's suggestion to bathe. She lifts her shift up and starts to slide it over her head. Raising her arms up is painful but nothing compared to having to pull the tattered fabric off her back where it had dried into the blood crusting her wounds. She tries separating it slowly but it is too agonizing. In a moment of desperation, she gathers the fabric as far down as she can reach and tears if off her back in a sudden motion. She screams and doubles over towards the floor, new trickles of blood running down her sides. Her back throbs as she waits for the worst pain to recede and when she looks at her shift in her hands she becomes queasy at the sight of it. It is dirty and torn to pieces in the back. Dried blood flakes off as she moves the material in her hands. The smell of it makes her gag. It stinks of that place, the men who violated her, old blood and new. She wants to throw it in the fire but then she would have nothing to wear. Her whole body reeks of filth and rape and the idea of being clean enables her break free of the trance she has fallen into as she stares at the stained item in her hands.

Throwing the crumpled shift away with a gasp, Catherine looks over what Connor had left for her. She scoops water from the large pot into the bowl, sprinkles in some of the herbs and dips a soft cloth into it. Slowly she washes herself and the water turns a hideous shade of brownish grey as it fouls from the accumulated dirt and blood coming off her body. She pours the water slowly into one side of the fireplace and watches the steam rush up into the chimney and out into the room. She puts two large pieces of wood on the fire to keep it burning hotly and scoops up more water to continue on. The bruises on her breasts and thighs from the men forcing themselves on her are a combination of colors ranging from livid purple to faded brown and yellow. Scratches on her arms and gashes on her knees remind her of her futile attempts to fight them or free herself. By the time she is finished washing she is weeping openly, remembering every awful intrusion and forceful restraint. The only place she can't reach is the center of her back but she lets her wet hair drip water down it. Some of the unreachable grime trickles away as she holds her arms across her chest and bows her upper body down over her knees, sobbing. With a groan, she sits back onto her heels and drags her shift over. She refills the bowl, submerges her shift and scrubs it, forcing her mind to calmness, her shaking sobs gradually subsiding. She changes the water in the bowl until finally the water stays clear.

By now, the drink she had earlier has taken full effect. There is less pain but she is fighting the need to close her eyes, the steamy air in the cabin adding to her lassitude. Catherine wrings out her shift and spreads it in front of the fire. It does seem to appear cleaner. Her damp hair chills her skin and the trails of water running down her sides from it make her shiver so she wraps the blanket around herself. Her eyes are gritty from weeping and she wants nothing more than to go to sleep but she has spread her shift out where she would lay. Against her will, her eyes stray to Connor's bed and her stomach clenches at the thought of him finding her there. She decides that she will only take a short nap so she can get up before he returns. Catherine picks up the hatchet and crawls over to Connor's bed still wrapped up in the blanket. She slides the hatchet under the pillow, drags herself up, lies on her side and pulls his blankets to her chin. Her body sinks blissfully into the cool, soft mattress but the linen is redolent of Connor's body. It isn't an unpleasant scent but it is uncomfortably intimate to her, as if he were lying in bed with her unclothed. Lack of rest and the mildly sedative properties of the drink creep over her despite her anxiety and she falls asleep.

Connor returns to the cabin in the early afternoon and as soon as he opens the door he sees Catherine's shift spread out in front of the fire. Looking to his bed, he is relieved to see her in it and not on the hard floor. He leans a walking stick for her against the wall and returns to the porch, shutting the door quietly. Outside, he cleans and skins two rabbits he caught, hanging their carcasses from the ceiling to freeze. Back inside, he removes his gear, jacket and boots to wash himself. Catherine's shift is dry so when he finishes washing he picks it up to bring it to her. It is nothing more than a pile of flimsy, torn rags in his hands. He places it on the chair sitting against the wall between the bed and the storage door but then goes into the storage area and digs in a cedar chest of neatly stored clothing and items that belonged to the previous owner of the cabin. Near the bottom beneath a heavy jacket and a few books is a soft, long sleeved cloth shirt, a belt and some pants. Connor refolds the clothing and brings the items to the chair.

Catherine is lying on her stomach breathing deeply and at some point had pushed the blankets partly off. Her arm is hanging down off the left side of the bed. The upper half of her bare back is partially exposed and he lightly slides a small section of curls out of the way with one hand to get a better look at her injuries. The sides of her back are mostly clean now but the middle appears to be too difficult for her to reach. The edges of the biggest gash are red and raw, which make him worried about infection. Catherine takes a slightly deeper breath and Connor withdraws to the other side of the cabin. He leans against the fireplace and stares into the low flames and back at the bed. That slash bothers him. He gathers the remaining herbs from Catherine's bathing and sets some water to warm by the fire. From the table, he watches Catherine sleep for a while and hopes he can convince her to let him near her again.

Connor takes the walking stick, approaches the bed and leans it against the wall beside the chair. He sits on the floor with his back against the chair, bends his knees up, rests his elbows on them and looks at Catherine's sleeping face. Other than when she was unconscious the previous night, it is the first time he hasn't seen worry and fear on her face. The swelling on her jaw and lip have gone down slightly but the shadowy coloration of her bruise has deepened. Her bottom lip is still puffy where it is split, though it appears to be cleanly scabbed over. Connor extends the fingers of the hand nearest her dangling arm and lightly strokes the fine blonde hairs that cover it once. Her skin is soft and warm and she stirs under his touch, curling her fingers and flexing her wrist back. She takes a deep breath and on her exhalation makes a sleepy moan. Connor wonders if he gave her any of the bruises on her arms during their struggles the night before. He hopes not. Again he strokes her arm and Catherine opens her eyes. They widen as she takes in the sight of him so close to her and his hand hovering over her wrist. She inhales and withdraws her arm, pulling the blankets up close to her chin. Her face is no longer peaceful and her beautiful, sea colored eyes are steeped in fear.

Connor's face is only an arm's length from hers and Catherine's body tenses under the blankets. She grips the handle of the hatchet under the pillow but she knows her weak and damaged body would not react fast enough if he pounced on her. Acutely aware of her nakedness against the sheets, she grows nauseous at the thought of him tearing the blankets off, pinning her down and having his way with her. She knew she couldn't trust this man. Panic starts to set in and she is unable to slow her breathing.

Connor helplessly watches as she becomes more and more agitated before his eyes. He leans away from her, resting his weight on his right arm and shaking his head.

"Catherine, it is alright. I am not going to hurt you. I am sorry I frightened you." She is gasping instead of breathing and her entire body is trembling. The tears that leak from her eyes saturate the pillow and he worries that he won't be able to calm her. Her lips are parted and her hand clenches at the blanket from inside. Facing the palm of his hand toward her, Connor makes a lowering motion and keeps his voice soft and soothing as he continues talking to her.

"I have no desire to mistreat you the way you are thinking. I am not that kind of man. Please Catherine…Try to calm down. I only want to help you." Catherine brings her clenched hand toward her face and almost looks like she is biting her knuckles through the blanket. Her breathing is still rapid and broken by short, high pitched moans when she swallows.

"Your back is badly injured and I am afraid it is infected. I want to clean and treat the cuts, nothing more. Please let me help you… I am not a monster like them." Connor stops talking and deliberately looks into Catherine's eyes. He slides himself further back and sits against the wall facing her with his left knee bent. He turns his left hand up in a subtle pleading gesture and then rests his wrist on his bent knee.

Catherine slowly manages to control her breathing. She hears his words through the ringing in her ears but only once he stops talking and moves away do they register and start to make any sense. His withdrawn posture seems to reinforce what he says. No longer looming so close, he isn't making any movement toward her at all. His last statement clangs repeatedly in her head. _I am not a monster like them_. A tortured expression fills his eyes and his face. He saw the place she was in when he found her. He must have heard her screams. She squeezes her eyes shut and thinks about the state of her body. Anyone could see at a glance that she was repeatedly beaten and raped. She touches the bruises on her neck under the blanket. _Not a monster_… Catherine forces herself to open her eyes and really look at Connor.

He is looking down and slightly to his right; his brow is furrowed and a distressed expression clouds his features. Can it be he is truly appalled that she has categorized him the same as the other men? Scenes from the previous night start replaying in her head differently. Were his actions really as aggressive as she had interpreted them to be? Even when he had held her down he had done nothing further than keep her from attacking him. She had been the aggressor, not him. Perhaps she had misjudged him simply for being male. The realization pinches her conscience and a feeling of guilt comes over her. She takes a breath and slowly releases it. The quiet between them stretches on for an age. Connor closes his eyes and rubs his creased forehead with his right hand, his chest rising and falling in a deep and silent sigh. He bends his right knee and lets it fall to the side, the sole of his right foot almost touching the side of his left on the floor.

"They _were_ monsters. They all raped me." Catherine hoarsely blurts out. Connor moves his eyes to look at her, lowering his right forearm to rest on the inside of his right thigh and turning his fingers toward the floor. There is a profound look of compassion on his face, merged with anguish and a spark of anger.

"I know," Connor says quietly, his expression changing over fully to compassion as he lowers his head slightly, his eyes staying fixed on her face. He rolls a fold of his pants on the side of his knee between two fingers of his left hand.

"The first time was the very night they captured me." Her voice falters and becomes a whisper.

"I tried to fight back but they were too strong." Catherine has shifted her eyes and seems to be staring at the table several feet to Connor's right yet her unblinking gaze is blank and unfocused. Connor puts his left elbow against his raised knee and rests his head against his palm, the tips of his fingers hidden in his hair. He does not speak for fear that she will stop now that she is finally talking to him but he is sickened by her words and the story he knows is to follow. She regains her voice, though it is flat and emotionless at first.

"Each night while we traveled, it was the same… for two weeks, maybe more. I can't remember... When we got to the cabin they took me whenever they wanted. The leader of them was always threatening me with that whip…" Her voice cracks and she stops with a sobbing breath, a tear leaking from her eye.

"Catherine, you do not have to tell me…" Catherine interrupts him, turning her eyes back to him.

"I do... I need to get it out of me. I can't keep it… Please." Connor nods silently at her once, his face neutral of any expression, and waits for her to collect herself and press on. Her attention seems to have drifted to his feet and he has to force himself not to shift them or move his toes.  
"Yesterday I heard them discussing how they would dispose of me. My body, rather. I was able to fray my bonds against a rough board and pull my hands free to untie my legs. I climbed out a window and tried to ride away but they chased me and shot the horse. I was thrown from the poor beast and they caught me." She shifts her arm under the blanket and Connor is reminded of the scratches on her palms and arms and the dead horse he found only a short distance from the camp. He thinks she is lucky to have not broken any of her bones or been killed in the fall.

"One of them choked me. I thought I was going to die right there but he hit me and I woke up hanging from the ceiling back in that… _hateful_ place. The one with the whip cut my foot with a knife and told me I would never escape. Then he made me stand and started whipping me. You… must have heard me…" Her voice cracks again but she feels as if a weight has come off of her with the telling of her story. Connor is still sitting with his back against the wall but he is no longer resting his head on his hand. It is tipped up against the wall and the muscles in his wide jaw tense over and over. His arm is now resting on his bent knee and he is squeezing his fist tightly. He heaves a large sigh and relaxes his fist.

"I did hear you. They all deserved to die for what they did to you. I thought you were already dead and from the look of the place, I considered it a mercy." He shakes his head and then lowers his face to look at her. His eyes burn with a golden fire and he leans forward only enough to convey his sincerity.

"When I knew you were alive I had to find you. I know I hurt you when I held you down and I regret that. If I had just left you out in the storm…" He trails off and Catherine is quiet for a time, thinking on his words.

"I would have died. I was so afraid. After everything that had happened, I thought anything would be better than being a prisoner again, maybe even death." She moves her hand out from the covers slightly and wipes a lingering tear from the bridge of her nose. Connor looks sharply at her.

"You are no prisoner of mine! If you asked that I take you to New York right now I would pack up and we would go today, even if I had to carry you the entire way." His voice is serious but Catherine feels herself wanting to smile at his outlandish suggestion. She only shakes her head slightly.

"It would be a very uncomfortable journey for me. Your assessment of my back is probably correct. I can't move without considerable discomfort. That drink helped but it can't touch the deep pain." She hasn't moved at all from how he found her, even when she was terrified of him just a short time ago.

"May I see your back?" Connor asks, gesturing to her but staying against the wall. Catherine clenches her teeth but then decides to trust him despite her fear welling up again.

"If you wish."

Connor gets up and retrieves what he needs to treat Catherine. He approaches the left side of bed, sets the bowl and materials down on the chair and kneels down. He rolls his sleeves up and reaches for the blankets but stops and turns his head toward her with his question in his eyes. She nods to him and he slowly pulls the blanket down a few inches, freeing the edges from between Catherine's fingers. Catherine inhales sharply as the blanket separates from her wounds. Her left hand is clenched near her chin, her arm tight to her side.

"Sorry. It is sticking to you." He whispers. Connor gathers Catherine's soft, almost dry curls off her neck and back and moves the pile of dark hair to the pillow above her right shoulder. It tumbles down and he gathers it back up, twists it into a long loop and tucks it into the crevice between her shoulder and the pillow. Despite Catherine's revised opinion of Connor, the feeling of his hands against her skin still makes her shudder. Her eyes follow his hands as he reaches to her side to draw the blanket out from under her stomach. Her breathing is shaky with dread for what is to come and with continuing to give her trust to him.

Connor carefully moves the blankets back, revealing the side of her stomach and lower back, a sliver of hip and leg. Her skin is incredibly smooth and creamy white in the spaces between her injuries and Connor silently laments the damage to such delicate perfection. As he folds the blanket down to the small of her back goosebumps appear on her exposed skin and Catherine moves her legs nervously, shifting her hips. The large gash is uglier in its fully exposed and sunlit state, the angry red edges swollen and pulling against the portions that had not been torn by the whip. At least two dozen long welts cross her body from just below the tops of her shoulders all the way down to the small of her back, her skin broken in many places where they overlap. Dark, crusted blood is mingled with the dirt and grime deeply embedded in her wounds. Her back is painted lengthwise with minute brush strokes of bright red blood where the blanket had reopened some of her wounds and then dragged along her skin. Connor clenches his jaw and represses his anger and sickening disgust. The force it would have taken to create the largest gash must have been extraordinary. He is certain she will bear many scars for the rest of her life. Shaking his head as he stares at her ravaged back, he whispers an old Haudenosaunee adage in Kanien'keha. _The greatest strength is gentleness. _He switches to English and addresses Catherine.

"This will be painful, Catherine. I wish it were not so. Are you ready?" His voice is choked when he speaks but he no longer wishes to hide his anguish at her state. Catherine reaches her left arm up and pulls the pillow further under her head to get more comfortable and nods with her eyes closed. With her arm raised, the side of her breast is visible, the swell of it pressed into his sheets. With horror, Connor finds himself sexually attracted to her despite the nature of her terrible injuries. His uncalled for desire magnifies her vulnerability to him at this moment and deepens his admiration for the level of trust she has given him. He looks away from her breast with some effort and focuses on the daunting task before him. He wants desperately to take away her pain and protect her from future harm but to do so requires an agonizing first step.

Catherine opens her eyes and watches with trepidation as Connor dips a cloth into the bowl and wrings it partly out in his grip, trickles of water running over his fingers and off his hand. He brings the cloth over her body and hesitates before touching it to her skin. In the very corner of her vision, Catherine can just make out his face. A deep furrow is between his eyebrows and his lips are parted. He closes his eyes and tips his head back for a moment, heaving a silent sigh. He looks back down at her back and moves his right hand as if to place it on her back but pulls back with uncertainty, his eyes moving over her injuries. He presses his lips together in a thin line and swallows, shaking his head. His hesitation is almost more disturbing than her naked exposure. It speaks volumes about what her injuries must look like and she would rather not think about that. When he lightly touches the cloth to her, Catherine turns her head into the pillow but she knows it does not muffle her moan. She holds her breath, squeezing the pillow in her hand tightly and trying not to move her upper body.

Tendons stand out over the back of her hand and her knuckles whiten. Connor forces himself to methodically work his way down her back, cleaning her deepest gash in small sections. Using his fingers to gently stabilize her inflamed skin, he cleans out the embedded dirt and crusted blood as gently as he can but her stiff body and muffled whimpers reveal her pain. Every time he gives her a break by working on the smaller cuts Catherine breathes in ragged gasps and her shoulders shake. Connor hates that he is the cause of her discomfort and watches with dismay as beads of sweat form on her neck in response to her suppressed agony. A pool of pink water collects in the hollow at the small of her back and then spills over her side and down under her hip when Catherine shifts her legs again. He takes a cloth and keeps it next to her so he can absorb the collected water occasionally and keep the bed from getting soaked.

"Do you want to take a break?" Connor asks, after a particularly deep portion proves much more difficult to clean out than expected and causes her to scream into the pillow, unable to contain her reaction any longer.

"No! Keep going!" Catherine gasps, her face still pressed into the pillow as her sobs rip themselves from her throat and fill the room around them. Connor stoically continues and gently dries her skin with a clean cloth when he is done. Catherine moves her face out of the pillow and breathes deeply, trying to relax as Connor places freshly steeped herbs on her raw skin. The warmth accentuates the throbbing in her skin and Catherine's pulse pounds in her head. Connor gently covers her back with a soft cloth and pulls the blankets back up, holding the cloth in place with one hand on her lower back.

Some of Catherine's hair had become stuck to her neck and face with sweat. Her eyes are closed and Connor is unable to restrain his concern for her. He reaches over and smoothes the curls back from her flushed cheek, letting his fingertips slide just under the top layers of her hair. Catherine breathes deeply and closes her eyes tighter, still clutching the pillow in her fist.

"Stay like this for a while. It needs to be on you as long as possible." Catherine nods her head and he withdraws his hand. The cabin feels too small to contain the emotions that threaten to break through the tenuous barrier he has put up to keep them at bay. He goes to the door and puts on his jacket and boots, grabs his gear in a jumbled pile and stumbles outside to escape the memory of her screams that still fill his head. He shuts the door and leans against it breathing the cold air deeply. The intensity of what he had had to do is overwhelming him with anger and an unreasonable need to hold her, as if he could take away her pain by doing so. It is a foolish, confused fantasy that would only result in disaster.

Catherine's muscles are sore from the effort of staying still through the pain. Connor's final gentle touch to her face was unnecessary and disturbing but it felt almost like an apology for having to hurt her. She thinks further on their conversation and is again plagued by how sure she had been that he had only evil designs for her. The folded clothing on the chair and the walking stick against the wall catch her eye and she adds those to her list of kind things he had done for her. Connor's horrified expression and the way he said he wasn't a monster still linger in her mind.

Connor jogs through the woods, unsure of where he is going, just knowing he needs to clear his thoughts. He runs up a fallen tree leaning against the trunk of a huge oak and leaps from branch to branch across a stream bed. Unable to slow his anxious mind, he exerts himself until the aching from the scar in his abdomen reaches almost intolerable levels. The pain is blinding and he misses the next landing, his foot slipping on a snowy branch and causing him to plummet several feet before he can control his descent. He succeeds only in catching a lower limb for long enough to swing his legs downward before falling the rest of the way to the ground. Connor rests on one knee to catch his breath and a drop of blood falls from his hand onto the snow in front of him. The palm of his hand is raked with scratches from his desperate grab. Shaking his head at his foolishness, he scoops up a fistful of snow in his injured hand and holds it tightly. All he can think about is Catherine. Images of the gruesome state he found her in conflict with his attraction to her. She fills his mind and he wishes he knew more about her and how she came to be in such a dire situation. Now that he seems to have gained a little of her trust, he hopes they can speak more freely with each other. For now, he attempts to contain his wrath for the appalling wounds she bears and the disgusting injustice that was done to her. Connor looks around and realizes with surprise that he is not far from where he first heard Catherine's screams. The coincidence is unnerving.

He heads in the direction of the cabin and soon the smell of soot fills the air. The snort of a horse and men's voices alarm him and he slips behind a large tree. In an effort to find a better vantage point, Connor scales the trunk and moves closer high among the network of branches until he has a good view while still remaining concealed. The burned ruin of the cabin and the scorched and blackened trees surrounding it are below him, an enormous circular scar on the forest. Farther in the distance is the boulder where he first interacted with Catherine, the streak of dark blood still marking the stone. There are two men searching the still smoking remains with sticks. Another two are on their horses watching. The frozen body of the first man he killed lies next to the horses, most of the limbs and abdomen gone from wolves feasting on the corpse. From where he is perched, Connor can just hear the men's conversation.

"I found a second burned body over here. It looks like a man too. Yes. Here is a dagger."

"Dammit, where is she? We aren't going to get paid if we can't prove she's dead."

"This can't be happening. There is no way the little bitch managed to kill even one of them. This one's neck was slit almost to his spine. She isn't that strong. That one looks like he had an axe in his skull."

"Maybe the place was sacked by Indians. We are in the middle of nowhere out here. They could have taken her for themselves."

"The Don is going to be furious about this." One of the mounted men gestures impatiently at the two men on foot.

"Just take the weapons as proof so we can leave. I want to get back to the Don and tell him what we found as soon as we can. If she was taken by savages, she'll be dead soon enough. What a waste of time, coming all the way out to this God forsaken place."

Connor is tempted to shoot them with his bow but they are all carrying firearms and he isn't sure with his bloody hand if he could kill them all before getting shot himself. He waits until the men leave before moving from his hiding spot in the trees. On his way back to the cabin, Connor is deep in thought. A deer jumps across his path and he doesn't even take it down despite the scarcity of game. Who is Catherine that someone wants her dead badly enough to have multiple people under pay to do it? And who is this Spaniard called the Don and what does he have to do with her? He makes his way back slowly to the cabin but it is well past dark before he reaches it.

Catherine is too restless to stay still for long. After only an hour or so, she can't bear lying still anymore. She had tried to close her eyes and sleep again, but her heart was racing far too much for that. She raises herself to all fours and finds that her back is still just as tender, if not more so. She reaches her hand behind her and slides it under the cloth across her back. The leaves are almost dry. She leans to the side and pulls the cloth off. Most of the herbs come off in clumps and she gathers them up and puts them in the cloth. Catherine sits on the side of the bed and picks up the lighter colored piece of clothing,letting it fall open in her lap. The fabric smells of cedar and dust. It is a man's long sleeved shirt with lacing at the neck and wrists. Despite being an old style, it is well made and of fine quality fabric. When she puts it on over her head the sleeves dangle beyond her hands and the shoulder seams end midway down her upper arms. She pushes the sleeves up and ties the wrist laces just above her elbows. When she stands up the shirt falls to just above her knees. The dark brown pants are very loose on her even when she ties the waist as tightly as she can. They sit low on her hips and she stands on the ends of the legs with several inches extending beyond her toes so she rolls them up. The belt helps hold the loose fabric of the shirt closer to her body though it, too sits low on her hips.

The walking stick leaning against the wall is a comfortable height so Catherine tries an experimental step. She is surprised to find that she can bear slightly more weight on her injured foot than just this morning. It still isn't much and it hurts tremendously but she forces herself to walk around the circumference of the small cabin twice before resting. When she returns to the bed she is uncomfortable but feeling better about her mobility. She takes her ruined shift and balls it up as small as she can. Again she contemplates throwing it in the fire but changes her mind and folds it up, drops it on the floor and nudges it under the bed with her foot. The door to the back storage area is cracked open and she gets up to look inside, spotting the latch hidden between two logs. In the fading light of day, she explores the area. It is large and cavernous and has shelves built along the sides. There are stacked hides and cooking supplies, sacks of potatoes and grains, various ingredients, hanging bunches of herbs and greens, pots and pans and a few dishes. In the shadowy back, a chest is sitting open. It has some clothes items in it, a few dusty books and other personal effects and smells like her new clothes. She wonders whose they were, since she isn't sure they would fit Connor and they definitely aren't hide Indian clothing like he wears.

Catherine makes several slow trips from the fireplace to the storage area and back, collecting a few spices she recognizes and various ingredients from the shelves to make stew. The last thing she gets is one of the hares from the porch. There is still some water in the pot near the fire so she uses it to scrub the hatchet blade thoroughly and rinse it well. After taking a long break to let some of her pain ease in her back and foot, she transfers water from the bucket of ice Connor left earlier to the pot on the fire to boil. The hatchet works well to butcher the rabbit and Catherine adds the meat and bones to the pot along with some potato chunks, dried leeks, herbs, spices and some grains. A final trip to the storage area with the lantern reveals a half empty bottle of brandy and she brings that over and adds some to the stew. By now she is exhausted and both her foot and back are throbbing in near debilitating pain. She is content to just sit in front of the fire and stir the pot occasionally. A bit of brandy for herself warms her stomach and relaxes her aching body. If she closes her eyes and ignores the pain, she can almost pretend she is home.

Catherine stares at the stars outside the window and wonders, not for the first time, where Connor is. It has been dark for hours now. She knows he is capable of the climb to the cabin since he did it late at night, during a snowstorm and while carrying her but nevertheless, she feels a twinge of worry about being alone. The sound of stamping feet on the porch some time later makes her jump and she clutches the spoon in her hands tightly when Connor opens the door and comes inside. He looks down at Catherine sitting cross legged on the bear skin and smiles.

"You look like a stowaway woman on a pirate ship dressed like that." Catherine looks down at her oversized clothes and rolled up cuffs.

"I suppose I do." Connor gestures to the pot, looking at its contents with interest.

"How did you manage to do all this? You were supposed to rest."

"I was careful. I took a lot of breaks." Connor huffs at her defensive brush off, pulls his hood back and starts to remove all his gear. Catherine notices the cuts on his hand but doesn't ask him about it. She is irritated with herself for not being able to speak kindly to him. While he was gone it was easy to imagine conversing with him but his proximity and towering height has intimidated her. The way he looks with his back to her as he removes his leather belt makes her feel shaky and ill. She remembers how easily he caught her wrist when she swung the hatchet at him and held her down, the dark shadow of his body looming over her where she lay. The hatchet is sitting on the hearth just out of reach; only the wooden spoon or the bottle of brandy is near enough to use as a weapon and Catherine tries to remind herself that he has been kind to her, that he admitted regret for having to restrain her and was obviously deeply disturbed by her injuries. It helps tame her insecurities slightly.

Connor walks to the back of the cabin and into the storage area, returning with two bowls and spoons. When he reaches the fireplace again, he looks down at Catherine. Her hair is a cascade of careless waves and curls that reach almost to the floor. The clothes he gave her cover her injuries well and he is less disturbed by the sight of her now that she no longer feels the need to clutch a blanket desperately around her body. Her face is still marred by the bruising and split lip but when her head is turned the right way he can't see the discoloration and her beauty becomes even more potent. She tips her head back to look up at him and the very ends of her hair touch the bear hide where she sits. He can't help feeling protective of her, especially after what he witnessed at the burned cabin. Catherine moves to the very edge of the hide, making room for Connor to sit beside her. He is surprised by her inviting gesture even if she moves rather furtively and is careful to sit with a gap between them so she won't regret her decision. He places the bowls between them.

"This smells delicious. It reminds me of a… different time in my life." Catherine hesitates before responding. He is obviously making an effort for her sake and he has given her an opportunity to ask about him. Connor picks up a bowl, cradling it in one hand. His fingers are long and his hands are calloused and strong looking. Catherine forces herself to look up at Connor's face and finds him regarding her. He glances at the large spoon in her hands and raises one eyebrow with a smile. She stops clutching it in her fists and stiffly hands it to him. He fills the bowl and extends it to her. When she takes it from him, her hands cover his fingers until he slides them out from under her grasp. While he serves himself some stew, Catherine decides that she needs to say something and stop being so rude.

"Who are you?" He looks over at her and seems relieved that she is taking any interest in him.

"I grew up in a small Kanien'keha:ka village south east of here. My mother named me Ratonhnhake:ton."

"You go by Connor, though."

"To many, yes. I spent my youth playing in the woods with my friends and learning to hunt and trap. When I was about fourteen summers, I left the village and came to be under the tutelage of an old man named Achilles Davenport, whose homestead is on the coast north of Boston. For the sake of integrating me better into the community, he renamed me Connor, after his own son who died at a very young age. For many years I trained with him. He taught me how to defend myself and educated me in the ways of the colonists, warfare, and the value of real freedom."

"Warfare? Did you fight in the war?"

"I took part for my own reasons. I thought I was fighting for a cause but in the end I felt that my efforts had been rather futile and for another's gain other than my own." He waves dismissively with the hand holding the spoon and shrugs his shoulders with a crooked smile of indifference on his face.

"Why did you leave your village?" Connor's eyes seem to darken and he looks into his bowl, his lips hardening for a moment.

"When I was very young, I encountered a man who threatened me and who I thought later ordered my village to be attacked and burned. My mother died in that attack. I tried to save her but I was just a boy and I was too weak. I vowed that I would find that man again and he would pay for what he did to my people and my mother. I wanted to prevent anything like that from happening again." Catherine finds it difficult to picture the oversized man sitting beside her as a weak little boy.

"Did Achilles help you do that?"

"Yes and no. He was a skilled fighter, well, he had been in his younger years, and a former leader of a group of people who fought for freedom. He taught me many things but I had to learn many truths about life myself. The old man and I did not always get along and I had harsh words with him on several occasions that I deeply regret to this day, but in many ways he was the father I never had. Maybe I was the son to him that he had lost all those years ago. It would explain why he never gave up on me no matter how ungrateful I was. I was rash and quick to anger then. He died a few years ago and I buried him in his family plot in Davenport." They are quiet for a time, eating their dinner by the fire. Catherine looks over at Connor and watches his hands as he separates a piece of meat from the bone and scoops it up in his spoon. The bowl and utensil are dwarfed by them; they seem better suited to holding weapons. Veins stand out under his skin and several faded scars cross it, changing slightly as his fingers grip the spoon. Despite their capable and rough appearance he handles the delicate items with graceful dexterity.

"How did you come to be here? Boston is so far away."

"After the war, I found it much harder to live on the homestead among the people I had grown to love as my extended family. I felt out of place, the only Kanien'keha:ka among a community of colonists. It was difficult living alone in the old man's house, which he had left to me upon his passing. I returned to my village only to find that everyone had left. My efforts during the war to protect them had failed. The land had been taken from them, sold, and my people had been forced to move west. I struck out to find them and when I did, I discovered that I no longer felt like one of them either. They welcomed me back, but I had lost many of the friends I once had. Since then, I have spent a large portion of my time here. There is something about this place that allows me to rest and be who I am." Catherine finds herself relaxing beside Connor as he tells his story. His voice is pleasant and hearing him admit his faults and tell his history, as sad as it is, makes her grateful to be under his protection. Knowing he fought in the war and tried to defend his people settles more of Catherine's fears. She feels terrible for judging him so harshly and for her earlier thoughts of fending him off with the wooden spoon or the brandy bottle. How strange it is to suddenly not be so afraid of him.

"And what of the man you vowed to find for the destruction of your village?"

"He died for what he did, though his death did not bring me the closure I had been looking for. He was not who I thought he was, though he was still an evil man. Things had gotten complicated by then, and I found myself questioning the very values I had depended on to sustain my motivation." Catherine watches his face cloud over again and she tries to steer the conversation in a different direction.

"What happened to your father? Did he die before you knew him?"

"No. I met him later in my life. For a time, we thought that we could join our purposes, to use our combined skills to bring about a change in society that would make life better for everyone. While our ultimate goal was similar, our beliefs on how that goal should be realized were very different. My father was the leader of the faction that opposed everything Achilles and I stood for and he died for his beliefs. There was nothing either of us could do to convince the other to change."

"I'm sorry, Connor. I too have lost both of my parents. It isn't easy to live with."

"I miss only my mother and the old man Achilles. My father used me and betrayed me. He protected the man I sought to bring to justice."

"Why would he protect the man who brought about the death of your mother? Didn't he love her, at least before you were born?"

"Maybe… yes. He did not know at the time what had happened to us when I was young. But even when I told him, my father was too deeply involved in his treacherous life to give up the man I sought, his second in command."

"How awful."

"It is the past." Connor looks to be far away in his thoughts. His story is a sad one, and it is obvious he has lived with much emotional torment because of it. Catherine pours some brandy into the cup and offers it to him. He places his empty bowl aside and takes it from her. As he raises the cup to his lips and sips, he lifts his eyes to Catherine. They are dark with his ruminations, the outer edges of his irises tinged a smoky orange by the firelight reflecting in them. The grief in his soul lurks there, raw, naked and so powerful it seems capable of crossing the distance between them. Suddenly self conscious at such an intimate exchange, she lowers her face and stares into the bowl of stew she holds in her right hand. With the fingers of her left hand, she touches the scratches running up the inside of her forearm. His voice is soft when he next speaks.

"You said your parents had both died. What happened to them?" Catherine manages to raise her eyes to his and is relieved to find a less intense gaze looking back at her. Though his eyes are still lit up the same by the firelight they are buffered from his inner expression and it is easier to look upon them.

"My mother passed away shortly after I was born. I never knew her, but my father always told me stories about her. My father raised me with enough love for two parents. I would even say he spoiled me. He died recently from consumption." Connor lowers the mug to the hearth with his left hand, looking at it as he places it on the smooth stone.

"He sounds like he was a good man. What did he do?"

"He was the owner of a large textile manufacturing company that had gotten its beginnings on the outskirts of London from almost nothing. His employees were happy. He made sure I always had the finest clothing in the latest fashions. When I was eleven, we travelled here to America so he could expand his business in New York. He was doing well for many years despite the war and had secured a lady's maid for me as a companion when I was fifteen and then an engagement when I was twenty two. He loved me so much he wouldn't let anyone court me. At least that is what he told me. I was practically a spinster by then." Catherine sighs ruefully at the floor and misses the quizzical look Connor has on his face at her description of herself as a spinster.

"Any good father would be selective about who his daughter marries."

"I suppose. The person he finally let into my life was a man named Francisco Martinez, the son of a ship building tycoon, Sergio Martinez, out of Spain." Connor has to use every ounce of his self control not to react to her mentioning her Spanish affiliations. Fortunately, she was not looking at him the moment she said it and he is able to compose himself. Could her husband be behind what happened to her? He forces himself to remain calm in order to pay close attention to any information Catherine shares about this man.

"My father had somehow known Francisco's father through a business connection. I believe it had something to do with making sails. We corresponded for almost three years but because of the ocean separating us we didn't get to meet until all that time had passed. By then, my father had consumption and he was dying. Francisco and I had mutual attraction to each other when we met in person and my father made me promise that I marry so that my inheritance would not become the possession of the government or a source of squabbling among his contemporaries. He wanted me to benefit from it. I begged Francisco to put off the wedding for several months in the hopes that my father would get well enough to be there. When it became clear that he would not, we wed at Sergio's insistence. My father died that afternoon but he died knowing that I would be taken care of." Connor cringes in his head at her turn of phrase.

"Your people have strange traditions. Arranging marriages, calling a woman 'old' at twenty two and not allowing unmarried women to inherit all seem… odd." Connor rests his elbows on his knees, couches his right hand inside his left and rests them against his mouth.

"Maybe it would seem so to some but it is normal for us. I was more upset about losing my father than my inheritance. I was marrying into a wealthy family and I knew I would want for nothing but inheritance also plays a social role, especially for women. My father would have never wanted my marital value to be lessened after his death." Connor raises his head from his hands.

"Lessened?"

"Because of being a pauper due to my sex and age." Connor's eyebrows move together and deepen the small vertical line that resides between them.

"I still can not comprehend that a woman's value is based solely on potential monetary gains for her husband." He shakes his head and changes the subject.

"How long ago did your father pass away? You said it was recent." Catherine doesn't answer right away. Her eyes shine in the firelight.

"What is the date today?"

"It is the 9th of February. Wednesday." Catherine closes her eyes and sighs. Connor reaches for the mug of brandy and takes a sip of his drink to cover his growing alarm at Catherine's distress.

"My father died almost six weeks ago. My wedding was on the 2nd of January."

Connor almost chokes. Married in a rush, her father dies on her wedding day and she gets abducted only a short time later by paid criminals reporting to some Spanish Don…. Seeing how sad Catherine has become due to the telling of her tale, Connor refrains from bringing up the men he saw and what he overheard. His suspicions are trying to claw their way out of his head but he doesn't feel that now is the time to start asking meddling questions about enemies, her new husband or her father in law. He keeps his voice devoid of anything but compassion.

"I am very sorry for your loss, Catherine. Your father sounded like an honorable man who loved you dearly."

"Thank you. He was and he did. I miss him very much; he was everything to me but I am glad he will never know what befell his Little Cat."

"He called you a little cat?" Connor places the cup on the floor between them and she takes it with a sad smile.

"Yes, short for Catherine. I loved that nickname." She raises the cup to her lips and sips, thinking about her dear father.

Connor gets up and goes to the supply room, returning with small earthen container, dried cloves and some herbs. He crushes the cloves and herbs together with the mortar and pestle and Catherine finds herself staring at his hands once more as he works. She watches in silence as Connor pours the powdered mixture into the earthen pottery. It looks to contain rendered grease and Connor uses the pestle to incorporate the powder into it well.

"Tomorrow I should put this on your foot and back. It will be strongest after it has been mixed for a while. It is the same combination of herbs that were in your tea this morning, only in greater concentration. The salve will help you heal and will take away the pain." He then sprinkles some of the herbs into the brandy on the bottom of Catherine's cup and adds some hot water.

"Drink." The brandy helps to mask some of the bitterness, but the concoction is still difficult to get down.

Connor puts things away, covers the pot of stew and brings it outside to the porch for freezing overnight. Catherine feels awkward at the thought of sleeping in Connor's bed in his presence but he mitigates any question of sleeping arrangements by taking the extra blanket Catherine had slept in the night before over to the fireplace and arranging himself a bed using the bear hide and the bedroll he uses for travel. Catherine makes her way over to Connor's bed and sits on it, taking her belt off before lying down on her side. The effects of the tea are made stronger by the alcohol and her eyes feel heavy quickly.

Sleepily, she observes from the shadows while Connor takes off his shirt and bathes himself by the fire. A reverse of the tattoo she saw in the morning adorns his other side, creating an interesting visual symmetry. His muscles are accentuated by the sheen of moisture on his skin as he washes himself and scars are visible on his arms and shoulders in the flickering light. In a strange juxtaposition, Catherine finds herself attracted to his powerful physique while her fear of his strength is increased by the sight of it. Her original dread keeps bubbling to the surface, trying to take control of her perceptions. She forcibly tempers her insistent fear with the many ways he has shown her that he is not at all like the men who took her away from her home and nearly destroyed her completely.


	3. Chapter 3

Day 3

Catherine wakes in the morning and moves her head only enough to look over towards the fireplace. Connor is lying on his back in front of the hearth, his head towards the door, with his right hand resting on his stomach on top of the blanket. His left arm is up over his eyes, the fingers of his hand curled slightly. Holding her breath, she pushes herself up from her right side and does her best not to groan as her back once again protests her movements. Can it be that her back hurts even worse or is she just tired of being so uncomfortable? As she reaches to take her belt from the chair her hand falls on the hatchet handle. Connor must have brought it over to her after she fell asleep. Her stomach tightens and she steals another glance in the direction of his sleeping form. Slowly, she takes the walking stick and shambles to the door, doing her best to keep the stick from making noise and waking him. Once at the entrance, she stops to unroll her pant legs and lets them cover her feet. A quick glance over her shoulder reveals that Connor still appears to be asleep and she silently lifts the latch and lets herself outside. The pants do fairly well keeping her feet protected from the snow as she traverses the distance to and from the outhouse. The air is frigid and she is happy to be back inside when she is done. When she looks back from easing the door shut, Connor is rolling onto his side and watching her.

"I didn't mean to wake you." She crosses her left arm over her chest self-consciously.

"I was awake when you got up." He sits up and gestures to her snowy pant legs covering her feet.

"We need to make you some boots." Connor rubs the back of his neck, yawning, and watches from the corners of his eyes as Catherine eases herself to the floor and gingerly reaches to her ankles to reroll her pant legs, every move slow and controlled to minimize discomfort. He wishes he had thought of the salve before he left yesterday. It would have made a difference even overnight. Once Catherine pulls herself up from the floor he gets up and brings some wood inside from the small stack on the far end of the porch to restock the pile by the fireplace.

While Connor is carrying in the wood, Catherine gets a better look at the scar on his abdomen. It is worse than she thought it was. The edges are raised and puckered slightly and many stitches had once extended beyond the central rounded area in front, curving partway back onto his side. His movements do not give any indication that his injury currently affects him. The tattoos appear to have been done after his injury, the lowest line of the inking on his right side partially crossing the upper portion of his scar. The lines of the tattoo draw her eyes along his sides and up his body. His sturdy waist broadens into his chest, back and wide shoulders, layers of powerful muscles shifting under his coppery skin as he stacks the logs. Catherine is overwhelmed by how colossal he is, feeling as if she is seeing him for the first time and she suddenly dwindles to a small and frightened mouse in his presence. No one could stop a man of his size and strength.

"I am going to get some ice for water. I will be right back." He puts his jacket on over his bare torso and pulls on his boots before leaving with the bucket by the fireplace. Once he is outside, he picks up a long handled axe and heads to the frozen rivulet on the cliff. A few well placed strikes with the axe break off enough ice to fill the large bucket, which he carries back to the porch. He opens the door and watches with some amusement as Catherine, sitting on his bedroll, attempts to rekindle the fire. Her hair is pulled over her right shoulder and she is grimacing as she stabs the smoking ashes beneath a pile of wood violently with the poker in frustration.

"You do not have to do that; I will take care of it in a minute." He stoops to pick up the water pot to fill with ice.

"I have never done well being waited on." She scowls into the fireplace, refusing to meet his eyes and Connor raises his eyebrows at her as he fills the pot. When he brings it back to the fireplace, he crouches down next to her and holds his hand out for the poker. Catherine looks at it and raises her eyes to his face with a stubborn set to her mouth before sighing and handing him the poker. Connor shifts a log with it, leans close to blow on the embers and manages to get a small flame licking the wood bits in only a minute.

"Huh." Catherine mumbles tartly, miffed at her inability to start a fire effectively. Connor turns his head toward her as he sits back and a tiny smile threatens to turn up the corners of his mouth. Catherine's arms are crossed over her chest and he wonders if she is considering grabbing the poker and stabbing him with it for succeeding where she had failed. Connor gets up to hang his coat back up and kick his boots off next to the door before she sees his amusement. He picks up his shirt from where he left it the night before and pulls it on, rolling up the sleeves to his elbows. Once the fire is burning well Connor sits down next to Catherine.

"I would like to look at your foot again and put some of the salve on it. It should help the pain go away for a while."

Catherine shifts slowly to face him, tucks her right leg under her left thigh and inches her foot toward him. Connor reaches for it and slides up the wet, refolded cuff of her pants to start unwrapping her foot. She winces as some of the fabric sticks to her wound. A dark area of dried blood has seeped through the cloth along the bottom of her foot, adhering the wrap to her injury. Connor leans back to pick up a bowl and scoop out some water from the pot. He positions it in front of his crossed legs and lowers her foot into the tepid water, bandage and all. Catherine hunches forward and rests her left hand in her lap, crossing her right arm across her breasts and gripping her upper arm in her hand. She looks down at her right cuffed pant leg and hooks a finger into it nervously while her foot soaks. When Connor lifts her foot out of the water by her ankle a few minutes later, the bandage slips off the rest of the way with a gentle tug. Catherine braces both of her hands on the fur behind her as Connor gently wipes the sole of her foot with the wrap in one spot and then dries it. He cradles the back of her ankle in his right hand and it looks as if he could close his fingers completely around it if he wanted to. Long, sinewy muscles shift under the skin of his forearm as he adjusts his hand holding her foot up and contorts himself to look at her injury without lifting her leg much higher. A few more places need his attention before he appears satisfied with her foot. He pulls the softened salve from its place by the fire and dips two fingers into it, applying it generously to her slash in a soft downward dragging motion. Connor starts to gently massage the salve into her slash with his fingers and then transitions to using his thumb with his fingers wrapped around her foot so he can use more pressure. It hurts at first but in only a short time the pain relieving properties of the salve start to envelop her foot in a warm numbness. The potent scent of cloves permeates the air and her leg muscles relax. The only thing she can feel now is the pressure of Connor's warm hands on her foot as he massages it.

"Better?" Connor asks as he continues to rub her foot. As her muscles had relaxed, her knee and hip had become more mobile and her leg moves freely with each movement of his hands. He looks up from his work and at Catherine's nod, he silently rejoices that he is finally helping her feel better instead of inflicting pain on her every time he touches her. He knows she is not comfortable with his contact with her and now that he knows she is a married woman, he feels mildly guilty about how much of her body he has seen, especially the first night when she was unconscious. Her culture is not at all like his, where men and women see each other mostly naked all the time, especially in summer. Her strong will to hide her fear of him is impressive, though he sees it in the way she carries herself. A turn of her shoulder, the twitch of a muscle in her neck as she looks anywhere but his eyes, her fingers always nervously touching her clothes, the way she curls herself into as small a shape as possible even when she sleeps. The intensity of her fear waxes and wanes but usually holds steady at a high level of guarded suspicion, as if she is expecting him to suddenly turn on her and harm her. Doing his best to swallow his anger, Connor tries not to think about what those men, no, those animals, had done to her to make her this way. No woman should fear a man the way Catherine does him. It makes him wish he could shrink himself down to a more average build and height, for he knows his stature is not helping.

Connor rewraps her foot only enough to keep anything from getting into her wound and places it down. Catherine tenses, knowing he will want to treat her back even though he hasn't asked her yet. Her hand strays to the neckline of her shirt and she stares hard at the floor, weighing what matters more. She will have to take her shirt off and allow him to touch her, yet her foot feels so much better that she yearns for the same relief to her back. Connor turns toward the fire and adds another piece of wood, hunching forward and saying nothing to sway her but she catches him glancing at her out of the corner of his eye. He is waiting for her to decide. Pressing her lips together, Catherine resolutely makes her decision.

She jerkily unties the lacing at her neck and shifts onto her hip, feeling nauseous and afraid again and hating herself for it. Her fear keeps overturning her logic and making her into a prisoner of this man again and again. The buckle on the belt fights her fingers and she fumbles at it until it finally comes undone and drops loudly onto the wood floor. As her nausea increases, she slides her legs under her body until she is kneeling facing away from Connor. She bows her head for a moment and then takes a breath and crosses her arms in front of herself, gathering up the sides of her shirt in her hands.

"Catherine, you do not have to do this if you do not want to." She freezes in place, her head still bowed.

"If I don't do it now, I never will."

"It is not my goal for you to feel compelled." Catherine shakes her head.

"I am tired of being in pain, Connor, and I can't put that stuff on myself."

"That is one way of looking at it. I want you to feel better as well but not if it is going to cost you in any other way." Catherine sighs and looks over her shoulder at him, feeling the edges of her wounds crack and pull on her skin painfully as she does.

"I appreciate your concern for me. But I really do want to be able to move without pain for at least a little while. I will have to get past my fear at some point and it may as well be now." Connor admires her resolve and doesn't argue with her further.

"Whenever you are ready, then." With some effort, Catherine grasps her shirt and pulls it up over head, keeping it on her arms and bending her body over them. Connor moves closer and sits behind her. Since his treatment the previous afternoon, some of the redness between the weals has gone down but because of that, each one now stands out in vivid clarity. The smaller gashes at the intersections of the lashes have scabbed over and appear to lay fairly flat. More than likely they will still leave scars but at least they will be small. The large gash continues to plague Connor's worries. While the other welts have gone down with their swelling somewhat, this one remains raised, the edges still separated, jagged and raw. The redness surrounding these open portions is wide and angry. He decides to start with the largest gash where the deepest injuries are.

At his first touch she arches her back and winces, pressing her face into the crumpled shirt in her hands. He coats her stripes with the salve, only touching her enough to leave the salve behind on her injuries. Once he reaches the bottom of her back, he returns to the top and gently massages the salve in with one hand. He notices as it takes effect when her shoulders relax and her head drops lower as her breathing becomes smoother and deeper. When he stops and gets up, Catherine puts her shirt back over her head and pulls it down over her back. Even these movements are easier for her. Connor rubs his numb thumb and fingers over each other, unable to feel their contact, and gazes down at where Catherine has curled forward over her bent legs, her head nestled in her hands and her elbows on the floor in front of her knees. Her fingertips are just visible through her hair as they bend and relax against her head. He isn't aware of the silent tears of relief that are sliding down her cheeks and dripping onto the fur.

Connor searches through his collection of hides in the storage area and finds two fairly well matched furs from some large summer hares. The fur is thick and soft, the downy undercoat a deep tawny color accented by longer, black tipped hairs. He then selects the thicker hide of a bear, several long laces and some tools and brings them all out to the main cabin. Catherine is lying on her left side curled around his pillow, more relaxed than he has seen her while awake. Most of her hair is tossed back behind her body and her eyes are closed. She opens them as he approaches and looks up at him.

"I'm sorry I was so irritated earlier. I was… projecting intention." Connor sits down in front of her and rests the hides and tools on his lap.

"You do not need to apologize. You have no reason to trust me until you are ready."

"But you aren't like… them. I know this. In here," she touches the side of her head with her index finger. And then she places her open hand over her heart.

"In here though… it fights me." She shakes her head ruefully.

"Give it time. Your heart may never fully heal but you will learn to control its power over your life." Catherine moves her hand off her chest and pulls the pillow closer to her body for a moment. She sighs and closes her eyes. The bruised side of her face is against the pillow and aside for the pink rope burns on her wrist and the bruises on her forearm, she looks unharmed. Connor is close enough to reach out and touch her hand or her face if he dares but doing so would shatter the moment. Instead, he lifts the folded hides off his lap and sets them to his side. The tools jangle together and Catherine opens her eyes.

"I have things to make boots. I will show you how our people make our winter clothing." He lays out the hides on the floor and Catherine sits up with interest.

"I love sewing. My father found me a good teacher when I was a child. I used to make my own clothes all the time."

"Why did you stop?"

"My husband thought it was very common to not have my clothes made for me and so I stopped during our courtship." She runs her hand across the rabbit fur and pauses to slide the soft hairs between her fingertips. Connor thinks her husband seems overly concerned about money and appearances instead of the happiness of his wife. The thought makes him clench his teeth so he redirects his energy to teaching Catherine. Connor shows her how the boots are a fairly simple design that wraps and laces over her foot and lower leg. The soft fur on the inside works as insulation and an extra piece of the durable bear hide on the foot portion helps increase the wearing power of the sole. He demonstrates with the awl and teaches her how to string the ties through the holes quickly. Catherine loops her hair into a loose braid that falls over her shoulder, picks up the tools and starts working right away. Within a short time she creates a pair of fully laced boots but then she takes them apart partially and alters them to have a folded down top that shows off the fur more and a flap on the side that can be opened and closed quickly with buttons for ease of wearing. On the huge remaining portion of bear hide, she uses some ash to draft a pattern for a jacket. Fascinated, Connor watches as she crawls around the floor working the hide and tools deftly with her small hands, amused by her zeal and creativity. Her mind is focused on the project and her serious expression of concentration, punctuated by occasional scowls, makes him smile.

"I am happy that you are using these furs. I do not make myself clothes very often. I bring many of my hides back to the village with me when I return and the women of my tribe make the clothes I wear." Catherine only glances up momentarily before returning to her work.

"What about your jacket? It isn't made of hide." He glances at where his light grey jacket is hanging by the door.

"I had that made in Boston. I wanted something more versatile and I had grown used to the style of clothing I wore during the war. I tried to add some details later to reflect my heritage."

"The beaded armbands?" Connor nods.

He gathers his weapons and lays them out on the floor to clean and hone the blades, including collecting the hatchet from next to the bed.

"Tell me more about your husband's work. I used to sail frequently as the captain of a ship called _Aquila_, so the ship building trade interests me." Catherine presses her lips together for a moment and looks at Connor. He used to sail? Captain? What kind of Indian is the captain of a ship? She has difficulty picturing him at the wheel of a vessel. The name _Aquila_ sounds vaguely familiar but she can't place why.

"My husband doesn't follow the trade as much as his father. Francisco prefers to work with the family finances directly. Sergio is the one who handles the business contracts and who orders the workers around. In some ways I am grateful that Francisco seems to not be interested in that side of the business. Sergio runs his business and the people working for him with a firm hand. I have often overheard complaints from his employees that he is pitiless and exacting, always greedily looking for ways to get the most money out of the least investment, and that includes being stingy with wages. I wouldn't want Francisco to be spoken of like that."

"He is a cruel man, this Sergio?"

"I suppose you could describe him that way. Hard might be a better descriptor. He has never directly been cruel to me. I just feel like he is… disapproving. I think when Francisco asks me to change things about myself it is more of an attempt to make me acceptable to his father than anything else." Catherine is quiet and stops cutting the hide for several minutes while she thinks. Connor turns his attention back to his work, hoping she will continue. She doesn't disappoint.

"Sometimes I wonder if they are just unhappy here. They came to this country for me at my father's request. Sergio complains that he can never make as much of a profit here as he could in Spain. He is continually looking for new ways to rise up in the ranks of the wealthiest society members. Francisco is always lamenting the weather being too cold, that New York is dirty and full of peasants and savage heathen Indians." She shakes her head, resuming cutting the hide.

"If he only knew the company I was keeping now. He would probably have an aneurysm. I apologize if my words offend." She raises her face towards where Connor is bent over his work. He is smirking when he looks up at her.

"You do not offend me. I have heard far worse descriptions of my lineage than that. You can tell your husband I am only half savage heathen. My father was from England. His surname was Kenway." He pauses and motions toward her with sharpening stone in his hand.

"What about you; do you like it in this land?" Catherine's face brightens.

"Yes, very much so! I miss London sometimes but I always preferred our home in the country. Here it is almost all country. The wild open spaces are so vast and when I would ride out beyond the borders of New York… I felt so incredibly _liberated_." Catherine's eyes are shining with her passionate description of the land. Her enthusiasm soon darkens and she frowns down at her hands. Her fingertips are red from accidental jabs from the awl.

"I suppose it was foolish of me to make a habit of doing so alone. When I was captured, I had given Anika the day off. My lady's maid. She wished to visit her family's graves and I only had a few small things to purchase and then my afternoon was free for riding. I wonder had I not been alone if I would not have been taken. Poor Anika; she is probably sick with worry. She is more like a friend and sister to me than a maid. She is only two years younger than me and I love her dearly."

"What happened to her family?"

"Small pox. If she had not been living with my father and me, she may have died too. She lost her whole family within a week, parents, older brother and younger sister… It was awful. We tried to send help but the whole district was infected and no one could get in. It was something to do with contaminated blankets being distributed to the rebel colonist army. Her brother was home visiting them from the barracks when he was sick and then they all got it."

"There were many sick and dying from that. We helped who we could and tried to burn the supplies of blankets, but too many got through." Catherine wonders if Connor had diminished the role he played in the war. He does not expand on the subject so she decides not to ask him. Connor examines the string to his bow for a time before looking back up at Catherine.

"Why do you not carry a weapon with you when you ride out?"

"I have no skill with weapons. The one time I did try to defend myself was against you and that didn't work out the way I had hoped at the time. Honestly, if I had managed to hit you, I would not have known what do next." Connor puts his tools down and waits for Catherine to look up at him from the hide edge she is poking with the awl.

"When you are able to get around without the walking stick, I will teach you how to use any weapons you would like. You should know how to defend yourself." Catherine sits up straight and stares at the array of weapons laid out in front of Connor, considering his offer.

"I would like to start with the bow. I have never even seen one before I met you." Connor is startled by the sudden change in her demeanor. A spark of something is in her eyes and he wonders what has awoken inside her.

By the time the light is fading, Catherine has created a warm grey bear hide jacket that falls to her hips, fits her well and has turned out hems on the sleeves, bottom and edge of the hood, exposing black, shaggy fur. The thick fur on the inside of the jacket makes it exceptionally warm. The roomy hood can be pulled up past her face to block the wind. At Catherine's request for buttons, Connor retrieves some large wolf teeth from storage, carefully makes holes through them and files the pointy ends so she can use them as button closures. The pearly teeth are striking against the grey and black, especially when Catherine attaches them so they graduate neatly in size. Connor quietly watches her critique her work, glad she has found something enjoyable to do while she recovers from her injuries. He gets the pot of frozen stew from the porch and sets it to warm as Catherine trims each seam painstakingly so that the fur on the outside is short and neat, making even black lines. She definitely appreciates fine work.

Catherine is glad to be done with her jacket and is happy with the outcome. Her back and foot have started to ache again and she has to move slowly. They eat dinner at the table but converse little. Catherine sits sideways in her chair to keep her back from touching the wood. She can think of little else than what it could mean if she learns to use weapons. Her husband would never approve of that but she feels strongly about wanting to learn anyway. An unexpected thought crosses her mind. What if Francisco decides she is not worthy of him any longer? Now that she has been used by multiple men… Sergio would certainly not be happy. The thought makes her afraid and she pushes it away. Maybe she can keep that from him and tell him she escaped but got injured during her flight. Her heart races and her lungs feel constricted.

Connor watches Catherine as she sits deep in thought. She has once again taken up the tense posture she had before he treated her back but he knows that can't be all that is bothering her. She was eating but now has barely touched the rest of her food and she looks distracted and worried. Abruptly, she gets up with a mumbled apology and uses her walking stick to hobble over to the door. She opens it and goes onto the porch. Through the window, Connor sees her sit on the deck and lean her arms on the lowest railing, resting her chin on her stacked forearms.

The air is frigid and Catherine welcomes the discomfort. She is unable to shake the feeling that her life has been changed irreversibly for the worse. The full implications of her abduction and abuse claw their way into her head and work at destroying any future for her with her husband. She will be thrown out on the street, a dishonor to her husband and his family. Or maybe even worse yet, she will be sequestered away, not allowed into the social sphere of her husband's life. Maybe he will take her back to Spain in disgrace. She presses both hands over her mouth and tries not to scream as her thoughts spiral downward towards despair.

Connor can just see her sitting on the porch in the darkness. She is hunched over and her shoulders are shaking. He is at a loss for what to do and has no idea what brought this on, the only indication of change he had seen at all had been her unexpected interest at wanting to learn weapons. Why that would make her cry is beyond him. Everything else she had been through, yes, but weapons training? When she continues to sit outside after she appears to have stopped weeping, he worries about her getting too cold. Making up his mind, he picks up Catherine's jacket and boots, grabs the blanket from near the fire and goes outside. She turns her head away from him when he comes out. The wind is blowing her hair around and icy particles hit his skin from the waterfall's frozen mist being tossed in the air.

"If you are not going to come inside, at least keep yourself warm. I brought you your things and a blanket." He places the items down on the porch behind her and crouches down beside her. She says nothing and refuses to face him.

"I hope I did not say or do anything to offend you. If I did, I am sorry." Her head shakes slightly.

"It's not you. I just want to be alone for a while. I need to think." Catherine's words are muffled by her elbow.

"Very well." Connor reenters the cabin and sits at the table where he can see Catherine. She turns and wipes her eyes before pulling her boots on and donning her jacket. With the blanket draped over her legs, she pulls the hood of her jacket up and hunches herself over again. Once Connor sees that she is adequately protected from the cold, he moves around the cabin restlessly organizing. He goes to the supply room and pulls out some soft and pliable scraped deer hides that Catherine could use to make herself some better clothing, since she is so good at it. He puts his hatchet on the chair by the bed and spreads out his sleeping roll in front of the fire. After a while he sits on the mat and puts some water on to boil. He makes tea and watches the fire. Over an hour goes by before he hears Catherine moving towards the door. She comes inside and sits in front of the fire next to Connor, the blanket bunched over her arm. Frozen mist melts into water droplets, decorating the fur framing her face and the hair spilling from her hood with a shining reflection of light from the fire. When she pulls her hood back, her nose, cheeks and lips are pink from the cold and her eyes are red. Connor makes her some tea and she takes it from him. She holds the warm cup to her lips and stares into the fire in silence.

After a while she takes off her boots and jacket and bends her knees to put her feet on the floor. She starts untying the wrap on her foot and while she is picking at the knot, Connor reaches for the salve. When Catherine finishes untying the wrap he takes her foot in his hands and brings it onto his lap. Her eyes look tired when she looks up at him and he wishes he could undo everything she had gone through at the hands of her captors. At least helping her physical wounds is a start and her foot already looks less irritated and the edges of the slash are flat. As he massages the salve in, a fleeting but powerful wish that she were not married passes through his mind and he immediately brushes it off. No matter how much he suspects her husband, he has no right to think of her that way. He wraps her foot again and thinks again on the scene he witnessed the day before at the cabin. The combination of her Spanish husband and the mention of a Don is just too perfect to be coincidental. He looks down at his hands resting around her ankle and over the top of her foot without really seeing them.

"Connor." Catherine's voice brings him back to the present and he raises his head up. She is looking at his face with a combination of concern and interest. She flexes her foot back slightly and he lifts his hands off her abruptly.

"I did not mean to restrain you."

"You weren't. I could have moved away any time. I was wondering what you were thinking of just now."

"Nothing that cannot wait until another time." Catherine hesitates just a moment before nodding. His face was so full of consternation that she briefly considers pressing him on the matter but changes her mind, turns her back to Connor, gathers her shirt up and holds it against the front of herself. He applies the salve to her back gently.

Connor is happy with what he sees. These wounds, too, are looking better. The softening effects of the salve have helped to reduce the irritation caused by the fabric of her shirt and the smaller marks look more pink than red and raw. The large one is still ugly but at least it isn't infected. He tugs at the back of her shirt when he has rubbed the salve into her skin and she lets it fall down over her body. It catches for a moment on her side and he takes the end of the shirt and pulls it down the rest of the way for her. Catherine turns back to face the fire, picks up her jacket and gets up with her walking stick.

"Thank you. I feel better now but I am tired."

"Get some rest." Catherine limps to the bed and puts her jacket on the chair on top of the hatchet before leaning the stick in its place and crawling under the covers. She falls asleep almost immediately. Connor suddenly feels exhausted himself and prepares for bed. He can't stop thinking about Catherine's powerful emotional reaction. Part of him wants to believe it is just her trying to deal with the trauma from her ordeal but he still can't help thinking it has something to do with his offer to train her. It seems he is not the only one holding a disturbing secret.


	4. Chapter 4

Day 4

"I need to hunt larger game today. Our supply of meat is running low." Connor and Catherine sit opposite each other at the table after eating breakfast. Catherine looks up from her mug of tea and watches as Connor turns his chair away from the table, tips it back against the wall and extends his legs out. He brings the back of his left hand over his lips and covers a yawn while raising his right fist over his head and stretching. With a deep exhalation, he slides his feet back toward the chair, bows his head and leans forward, dropping the front chair legs loudly onto the floor. He reaches his hands up to his head, pulls the red tie out of his short ponytail and runs his fingers through his thick hair. Sections of hair hang from between his fingers and he briefly rakes through the longest portion that hangs past his chin, detangling it with a sigh. Regathering the upper part of his hair back from his face, he loops it through the tie and tightens it into the hairstyle he always wears. Connor rests his elbows on his widely spaced knees, his hands hanging near each other but not quite touching. Turning his head, he observes Catherine, his eyes lingering on her hand wrapped around her mug before moving up to her face.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" During breakfast Catherine had deliberately sidestepped addressing the reason for the previous evening's emotional breakdown, despite every glance from Connor being loaded with questions. She knows she is unable to help him hunt but her guilty conscience is jabbing her for hiding her doubts about her future from him. She asks anyway, the fingers of her left hand idly toying with the ends of her hair in her lap. As she expects, Connor shakes his head. His beaded braid swings from the side of his face.

"I took out some deerskin for you if you want to make more clothes. You can take whatever you like of what I have back there if you need more." He nods towards the supply room, setting his braid swinging anew.

"Thank you. You are very kind to me" Catherine drops her eyes to her mug and she appears intent on studying its contents.

"I liked watching you make your jacket yesterday. You are a skilled seamstress." A flicker of a smile crosses her lips but transforms into a hard line before it can fully form.

Intending to ask about her back so he can treat it and leave to hunt as soon as possible, Connor rises to his feet and crosses the short distance along the table to stand beside Catherine. She leans back in her chair, tilting her head up at his. Her curved lips are slightly parted and she moves her right hand from her tea up to the neckline of her shirt. The cut on her mouth is now only a raised vertical imperfection on her bottom lip with some redness surrounding it. All of the swelling is gone on the side of her face but her bruising continues to change colors daily. At the moment, it is an irregular brown mark that extends from the left side of her mouth at an angle up towards her cheek bone and is surrounded by a large area of a rather sickly yellow. An unwelcome image of one of the men at the cabin punching her pretty face intrudes his thoughts. It is sickening and a wave of irritation washes over him as he wonders how he can possibly bring up what he heard at the cabin and the questions he wants to ask her. He crouches down next to her with his right hand on the corner of the table, takes a breath and considers raising them now but the words catch in his throat and he cannot do it.

Catherine wonders at the way Connor is looking at her face. His expression had changed abruptly while he was standing next to her, transitioning from matching his compliment of her sewing to an anxious concern. Now his eyes shift over her face quickly as if he is surveying each feature. A small crease deepens between his eyebrows and Catherine questions if her appearance is more disturbing than she had imagined it to be. She raises her left hand from her lap to cover her cheek and turns her face away from Connor. He slides his hand towards her on the table but then stops.

"How is your back?" His voice is low and soft and Catherine turns her face towards him and hesitantly lowers her hand from her cheek.

"It is much improved, thank you. That isn't to say it doesn't hurt, but it's not nearly so bad as before." Connor nods, his demeanor once again changing before her eyes. His face smoothes but his neutral calmness seems like a fabrication. Catherine slides her chair back and Connor rises to his feet and moves to the side as she stands. He reaches for her walking stick leaning against the wall and holds it upright, ready for her to take it from him. Facing him, she keeps her arms by her sides looks up at him.

"Is it so awful to look upon?" Connor's brow furrows again and Catherine continues, forcing herself to maintain her eye contact with him.

"What they did to me?" She presses the fingers of to her left hand to her cheek again and slides them over to her lip. Connor slowly raises his right hand to hers and lowers it from her face with a light touch of his fingers. As soon as he has moved her hand away from her face, he takes his away and she drops her arm to her side.

"I do not enjoy seeing you like this but in only a short time those bruises and most of the other injuries will be gone. I worry more for your back and, as you said, your heart."

"Perhaps when I return home, time will help me forget." Something in Connor's eyes darkens for a moment but Catherine can't be sure if it is doubt, pity or anger.

"Perhaps," is Connor's only vague response. She takes the walking stick from him and makes her way over to the fireplace. When she sits down, she looks over her shoulder towards the table and Connor is still standing there. His right arm is by his side and he is reaching his arm up toward his head. Connor bends his head down and turns it toward the table, dragging his hand across the back of his neck. His posture is tense and a growing feeling of uncertainty and anxiety threatens to overwhelm Catherine. She is still unable to read him well and coupled with not knowing what will happen to her when she goes home, she feels adrift in the world.

Catherine starts to work on the hides almost immediately after Connor leaves. Each time Connor treats her back with the salve, she feels best in the first few hours until the numbness starts to wear off. Taking advantage of that blissfully pain free window, she quickly sketches out her patterns on the soft hides. If she is to learn weapons she needs clothes that will allow her the most freedom of movement. Basing her design largely on the clothing Connor wears, she makes a long, fitted, short sleeved tunic that comes to the middle of her thighs, laces down the front and back and has open side seams from the waist down for ease of walking. She then alters the long sleeved fabric shirt she has been wearing so that it can be worn under the hide tunic. It is so oversized that she has to remove the sleeves and cut out large sections of fabric from the sides and bottom to shape the bodice. Finally, she narrows and shortens the sleeves so they conform to her arms without hanging over her hands or needing to be folded up. Once the sleeves are reattached, she puts on both items and assesses the fit. The fabric shirt now has a lot of lacing holding it together but it is very soft and comfortable and protects her sensitive skin from the stiffer hide of the tunic. She has never made pants for herself before so she proceeds slowly with the project. At her first fitting they are too big for her so she adjusts the seams until they follow the lines of her body while still allowing her to move freely. She is somewhat uncomfortable with how closely they hug her hips and legs when they are laced up but she again reminds herself that she is dressing for utility, not femininity.

Late in the afternoon, as Catherine is starting to clean up the mess she made with her scraps, she hears footsteps on the porch and a knock on the door. She looks up in a panic, knowing that Connor would never knock on his own door. The handle starts to move and with a start, she remembers that the hatchet is on the chair next to the bed. There is no time to reach for the walking stick. She limps as fast as she can toward the back of the cabin, choking back sobs of agony as the newly closed wound on her foot stretches and threatens to reopen under her weight. When her hand touches the hatchet handle, the door opens. Catherine wheels around as an Indian man enters, calling out in his native tongue. He looks to be in his middle twenties and has extremely long black hair that hangs down over his shoulders almost to his waist. A long hide shirt that has swaths of intricate embroidery and beading running across it is partly covered by a dark orange cape draped over his shoulders. The cape bears white patterned weaving along the bottom with a long fringe and is closed together in front with some kind of bone or shell clasp. His hide leg wraps reach almost to the middle of his thighs and are held on with several brightly colored bands covered in beading tied around each leg. A white necklace with rows of long, thin, stacked beads is tight around his neck and feathers dangle from various places on his clothing. He is armed with three weapons. A bow and quiver are on his back, a knife in a colorful sheath is attached to a strap crossing his chest and a stone and wood club dangles from his hip. He immediately sees Catherine by the bed and steps toward her.

Catherine's heart races in terror. She brandishes the hatchet in front of her body, tightening her grip to still her hand from shaking. The man gestures towards her and says something in his language to her as bracelets clatter on his wrist. Catherine shakes the hatchet at him, desperately trying to think of how to get him to leave.

"Get away from me! My husband is going to be home any second and he'll kill you! Get out!" Her voice rises in pitch as she becomes more agitated. The man only throws his head back and laughs, bringing one hand over his chest in his mirth. He speaks in English and points towards her.

"That tomahawk belongs to Ratonhnhake:ton and I know he is not married. But he is Connor to you, probably." With a sinking heart, she knows the expression on her face betrays her lie. She clutches her chest with her left hand and the hatchet shakes in her right. The man takes another step into the cabin and looks around.

"Where is he?" Catherine wonders the same thing, desperately wishing he would walk through the door and stop this nightmare from happening. She raises the hatchet out in front of her further and points it at him afraid this is her last chance to try to save herself before he could grab her. Drawing herself up straighter, she forces herself to look at his dark eyes.

"I told you to leave." Her voice is low and trembling. The man steps back with an uncertain tilt to his head but doesn't cross the open threshold.

"Get out!" She screams and winds her arm back to throw the hatchet. The man jumps out the door and slams it shut, the force of Catherine's throw burying the hatchet deep into the wood of the door. Breathing hard and her vision narrowing to a pinprick in front of her, Catherine barely holds herself together enough to stumble the few steps to the back of the cabin and grope for the latch to open the hidden door to the pantry, tearing a fingernail partially backwards in her panic. The pain barely registers, for the entirety of her mind is aimed at finding safety. She falls to her hands and knees inside and drags the door shut behind her until the latch clicks. Weeping with fear, she blindly crawls farther through the darkness to the back of the cave. At the end of the shelving behind the cedar chest is a small nook and she wedges her body into it and tries to silence her gasping sobs, clutching at the neckline of her shirt with both hands and fighting not to pass out or vomit. If he comes back inside and finds her she no longer has a weapon and would be defenseless against him. Dizzily, she pushes her torn fingernail against her sternum, using the spark of discomfort to swim back to the surface of consciousness.

Connor hears Catherine scream as he starts up the gorge. He drops the deer he was carrying on his shoulders and sprints up the trail to the cabin, ripping his bow off his back and nocking an arrow as he runs. When he reaches the top, his friend from the village is backing away from the cabin. He slows his headlong run to a jog and then walks the remaining distance, lowering his bow.

"Brother, what brings you here?" He calls out in Kanien'keha, dropping the arrow back into his quiver. His friend turns and walks to him, looking over his shoulder at the cabin. His face carries a shocked and confused expression as he points toward the cabin door.

"Brother! You have a wild woman trapped in there! She tried to kill me! I was only coming to see if you were here. Now I find a cornered wildcat in your camp saying you are her husband. What is going on?" Connor laughs in relief and slings his bow on his back.

"It is a long story, my friend. Let me just go and speak to her and then I will tell you about it. Wait here. You probably frightened her." His friend nods and Connor jogs to the door. When he pulls it open, he is alarmed by the sight of his tomahawk protruding from the wood, barring his entry, and Catherine's walking stick lying on the floor. Connor wrenches his weapon from the door and steps into the cabin. Scraps of deer hide and lacing are scattered on the floor by the fireplace, the tools are abandoned on the hearth and his broom is discarded next to a small heap of debris.

"Catherine!" In a single glance he sees that she is not there and goes directly to the back of the cabin. He bends down and looks under the bed before pulling the latch to the storage area. At first the area appears empty but he knows this is the only place she could be. Connor grabs the chair from next to the bed and uses it to prop the door all the way open, letting in the light from outside. He walks inside and spots her in the shadows behind the shelving near the back of the cave. If there had not been so much sun shining in from the cabin he might have missed her.

"Catherine, you are safe." He crouches down beside her and places the tomahawk on the floor. She sits with her legs bent up to her chest and her arms tucked between her thighs and body, her dusty hands clenching the neck of her shirt and her feet curled against the side of the chest. Her eyes are wide and shining when she lifts her face from her knees, filled with a heartbreaking mix of terror and relief. Connor can't stop himself from wanting to soothe her. He leans in closer and pushes the chest aside with one hand. Gently, he takes her elbows and slowly lifts them out to the sides as he pulls her towards him. Catherine gasps at the contact and fresh tears run down her cheeks. Trembling, she tries to draw away from him.

"Come to me." He speaks just above a whisper. Catherine allows him to lean her upper body towards him, her hands loosening from her neckline one finger at a time. Abruptly, her heart feels crushed and her stomach lurches with desperate need. Her emotions are a tumultuous mix; fear of the intruder, anger at being so afraid and relief that Connor is back. His calm invitation to her, spoken with such soft concern as he gently tries to guide her closer, contrasts with her racing heart and dizzying indecision. His confident presence is reassuring and she suddenly wants comfort more than anything. Catherine grabs his arms and lunges into him with a strangled cry, knocking him back to a sitting position.

"He wouldn't leave, he wouldn't leave!" She raises her arms up around his neck and clenches his jacket and hood in her fists, pressing her forehead against his chest, her entire body wracked with sobs. She sits partially twisted, her hip on the floor and her legs slightly bent. Connor is astonished by her sudden and seemingly desperate acquiescence to his request. He wraps his arms around her and pulls her closer as he repositions himself on the floor, bending his knees and placing his feet on either side of her. She must have been terrified to have a strange man burst in on her, alone and unprotected as she was. He wishes he had been present to prevent this from happening now when she finally seems to be relaxing around him.

"I would never let anyone hurt you."

"But you weren't here, Connor… I needed you here!" Connor hugs her tighter to his chest and sighs. Guilt for leaving her vulnerable cuts at his heart but he never thought anyone would show up at the cabin. At least his friend was no real threat even if to Catherine, he was.

"I am here now." He talks into the top of her head and then rests his lips against her hair. The scent of her is warm and soft; feminine with prevailing overtones of clove from the salve on her skin. He holds her until she stops shaking and gasping for breath. While she calms down he takes in the new clothing she has made for herself. His hand rests on tiny x's of lacing that travel the length of her back and he rubs his thumb over one lightly, his arms rising and falling with her breathing. The clothing flatters her figure impressively, especially the way her pants hug the curves of her shapely hips and buttocks, more lines of miniscule x's running in stripes down the sides of her legs. Somewhat disgusted with himself for being so distracted by her body, he returns his attention to her distress. He smoothes her hair back with his left hand, letting his fingers come to rest against her jaw and neck and slides his other to her side to ease her away from his chest so he can see her face. She refuses to release her grip on his shoulders and only lets her arms extend as he shifts her body back. Her eyes are red rimmed and bloodshot, making her irises appear startlingly turquoise.

"I thought he was going to…" Catherine trails off and turns her head so she is not looking at him. Connor shakes his head and shifts his right hand up to her cheek so he is holding her head in both of his hands and gently turns her face back to him. She keeps her eyes to the side and Connor leans closer to move his face into her line of sight. He looks into her eyes, trying to project his sincerity to her.

"No, Catherine. No. He is not like that." Some of the tension leaves Catherine's body and her shoulders slump forward.

"Who is he?" Connor moves a hand from her cheek to her forearm on his chest.

"He is one of my friends from my village. I think you scared him half to death. He described you as a cornered wildcat."

"Is he still here?"

"Yes, I had him wait outside." Catherine finally relaxes her grip on him and sits back with a shaky sigh. Connor lets his hands fall away as she moves and an unexpected sense of loss comes over him. She presses the heels of her hands against her eyes and Connor notices her torn fingernail and some blood seeping from it. Happy to have a reason to resume contact with her, he reaches for her hand and takes it gently in his. A cursory examination of her finger reveals it to be a minor injury.

"I think I did it when I was trying to get back here. It will be fine." He nods and again relinquishes contact with her.

"I am going to go out and speak with him. Are you alright now?"

"Yes, I believe so… I hope he doesn't think I'm insane." Connor laughs lightly and shakes his head.

"Do not worry about that. You will see."

Connor gets up and walks out, leaving the hatchet where he placed it. Catherine listens for the cabin door to open and close before trusting her legs to support her. She picks up the hatchet, stands shakily and limps out to the cabin. Connor and his friend are visible through one of the windows conversing but their voices are muffled by the cabin walls and she can't understand their language. Catherine lifts her jacket from the chair and puts it on. She moves the chair back to its place next to the bed and closes the door to the supply room, scratching off a drop of blood from the wood near the latch. Her belt is sitting on the bed where she left it and she loops it around her waist, sliding the handle of the hatchet underneath. Painfully limping, she crosses over to her boots and sits to pull them on. The walking stick is just within reach and she uses it to climb back to her feet. She quickly takes the broom and pushes the remaining mess of hide scraps into a pile to the side of the fireplace before picking up the small knife from the hearth and trimming off the hanging bit of fingernail. She wets a scrap of hide in the bucket of water by the fire and cleans her finger and hand off before moving to the door.

There is a deep vertical gouge almost at eye level in the wood where the hatchet had been and Catherine touches it with her fingers. She almost can't believe that she succeeded in driving the man out but now that she knows he is Connor's friend she is filled with mortal embarrassment. She hopes she can reconcile with him without too much trouble. Taking a moment to breathe and steady her nerves, Catherine reaches to the handle and lets herself outside.

The two men stop talking when Catherine steps onto the porch. Connor's friend feigns great fear and ducks behind him, speaking in English.

"She has the tomahawk! Do not let her kill me, Ratonhnhake:ton!" Connor laughs and drags his friend out from behind him.

"Catherine, this is my good friend, Sonehso:wa. He is from the Onondowaga tribe and likes to barge into camps and frighten women. Sonehso:wa, this is Catherine, the… wildcat from New York who attacks rude men with tomahawks." Catherine is grateful for Connor encouraging the conversation further into lightheartedness. The newcomer smiles kindly at her and steps forward slightly with both of his hands slightly extended toward her.

"I am honored to meet you, Catherine. And I am very sorry to have upset you so much. I hope you can forgive me for my ignorance." Catherine affects a curtsey despite not wearing a skirt.

"And I am pleased to meet you. I apologize for throwing a hatchet at you and for lying about Connor… Ratonhnhake:ton, being my husband." She stumbles over Connor's native name and lowers her head in embarrassment, knowing she has mangled it and feeling a renewed rush of horror warm her face.

"That part made me more afraid than the tomahawk flying at my head," he replies, bringing his right hand toward his head and pretending to be hit by it. He nods towards Connor and grins sarcastically. Connor rolls his eyes with a sour expression on his face and receives a substantial whack on the back of his shoulder from his friend for it.

"Come and help me bring up the deer you made me drop." The two men walk down the hill together. Connor looks back over his shoulder at Catherine and smiles at her as he walks. Catherine relaxes once they are out of sight and returns to the chair on the porch to watch the waterfall. A bed roll and a bag are leaning against the wall of the porch. They must belong to Sonehso:wa. It is clear that Connor and Sonehso:wa are close friends, and seeing their easy camaraderie makes her miss Anika terribly. They used to laugh like children together when they had time alone, away from the disapproving eyes of her husband and father in law.

"So, where did you get her again?" Sonehso:wa reverts back to speaking Kanien'keha.

"I did not 'get' her, I helped her. She was a captive of some bandits east of here. It was not a good situation and I had to kill her captors. When she has recovered sufficiently from her injuries, I will help her return to New York."

"That is a shame, my friend. She is a spirited one and pretty, too. Maybe you could tame her wild ways and make her your wife. I know a few men, including myself, who would love to take a white woman to their beds." He elbows Connor in the ribs and laughs.

"She is pretty, and I do like her but she is already a married woman. Her husband is in New York and she seems determined to return to him. I have my suspicions about him though. I overheard some men at the ruin of where she was trapped discussing a bounty for proof of her death. I am afraid that she was used badly by men other than her captors. I mean to get to the bottom of it and if I find out it was her husband, I will end him."

"You more than just like her if you would kill again for her."

"And you make too many assumptions, brother."

"Why shouldn't I when I find you living with an attractive white woman who wears our style clothing and throws tomahawks at visitors? She is already a perfect match for you and I do not even know her." Connor is silent while he thinks what his life would be like with Catherine permanently in it, ticking off reasons in his head why she is so appealing to him. She loves the land and speaks of being a capable rider. She is talented with making clothing and is interested in weapons. She is beautiful, despite her grievous injuries. If he could show her how lovingly he would care for her, protect her, touch her… He can almost feel her warm body against him again, the soft skin of her neck under his palm and her slender hands gripping his shoulders. He remembers the silkiness of her hair under his lips and her scent filling his head. Connor stops himself from dwelling on what his friend just said. It is out of the question and he would be wrong to try to sway Catherine for his own interests. If she were to choose not to return to her husband it would need to be her decision alone. Connor worries about presenting what he knows about the bounty to her. She is so emotionally fragile that he is afraid of upsetting her more with that disturbing information. He is at risk of destroying the last thing she has faith in and has relied upon to endure. Right now, he doesn't think she would handle that well.

"You are thinking about it, aren't you?"

"Just forget it. Not everyone likes to take as many women to their beds as you do. And under no circumstances are you to tell her what I have told you. I have not had a chance to discuss my suspicions with her and it will only upset her more." They reach the discarded deer and each pick up a set of legs to carry it up the hill.

"Fine, calm down, valiant protector." Sonehso:wa says laughingly.

"How is everyone at the village?"

"They are well. It is the slowest time of the year so no one is doing much. That is why I decided to come here. I was bored. You missed the midwinter ceremony."

"It is the hardest time for me to stay around the village. The ceremonies do not feel like part of me anymore. I do not do well in large groups of people when there is nothing to accomplish."

"And yet you come to this place and do nothing here?"

"I hunt. I find ways to keep myself occupied."

"Like rescuing wild women?"

"Agh!" Connor raises his free hand in the air in a gesture of frustration and his friend laughs loudly.

Catherine watches the two men coming up the hill and observes the visitor more closely than before. He is a tall man, just about Connor's height but with a less bulky physique. He looks like a strong horseman instead of a warrior like Connor; his face is attractively featured, more heavily Indian looking and his skin is darker. His hair is fairly straight and he wears it partially pulled back like Connor but instead of a ponytail it is braided into a long, thick rope that hangs down behind him. He wears feathers tied into the braid at a few intervals and his ears are pierced. His clothes under the woven wrap are structured similarly to Connor's. The beaded accents covering portions of his clothing are artful and intricate, the designs different than the beaded armbands that Connor wears.

The men carry Connor's kill up and place it on the snow just in front of the porch before the ground drops off. Catherine tucks her legs up on the chair and watches as they skin and butcher the deer efficiently. They speak in English at first but soon revert back to Kanien'keha when their conversation becomes more animated. They seem to be exchanging stories of past events together. Catherine doesn't mind that she cannot understand them. She is still ashamed of her violent reaction towards Sonehso:wa and is more comfortable just watching the men interact with each other. Connor laughs easily with his friend, tiny crinkles appearing at the corners of his eyes. His smile transforms his face, and though his friend at first seems to be the more attractive of the two of them, Connor's smile makes him exceptionally more so to Catherine. He is so much more relaxed than he has been in these few days she has known him, the deep, sonorous quality of his laugh helping to break down more layers of the initial impression that has stubbornly clung to her perception of him. Much of his serious attitude is probably because of her and she reflects on the efforts he has taken to gain her trust, grateful that his friend is here so he can enjoy himself.

Sonehso:wa glances up at Catherine during a lull in his conversation with Connor.

"Do you like the food Ratonhnhake:ton cooks?" he calls out to her.

"So far, yes…" He scoffs and shakes his head.

"You are polite, not admitting that it is terrible. I will cook tonight and you will see how bad he is at it." Connor says something to him in Kanien'keha that is obviously an insult while pointing his bloody hunting knife at him and Sonehso:wa laughs and catches Catherine's eye again, raising his eyebrows and nodding with a knowing look. She can't help but smile at his efforts to entertain her.

"So the wildcat does smile! I knew the prospect of a decent meal would make her happy." Connor turns his head toward her and heat suffuses her face so she looks down at her hands in her lap. Sonehso:wa sets a few pieces of the butchered venison to the side. He asks a question in Kanien'keha and Connor wipes his bloody hands clean in the snow and goes inside. He glances at Catherine as he passes her and again when he comes back outside with a bowl. Sonehso:wa puts the meat in the bowl and cleans his hands before he gets up and approaches the cabin. He picks up his bag and bedroll and then turns to Catherine.

"If you want to see a master in action, come with me and I will show you how a real Haudenosaunee cooks." Catherine glances over at Connor and he nods to her so she gets up and accompanies Sonehso:wa inside. Once inside, Catherine considers sitting at the table but decides to join him when he takes a seat in front of the fire after taking off his colorful wrap and leaning his weapons and belongings against the wall. He uses the poker to rearrange the fire to his liking. Catherine can just see Connor hanging up pieces of meat to freeze along the porch.

"Where does Ratonhnhake:ton keep his cooking supplies?" Catherine gestures to the back of the cabin.

"There is a hidden door in the back on that wall. If you look closely, you will see a lever between two logs. Pull it out and the door will open." He stands and walks to the back and he exclaims when he finds the door lever. He spends a long time poking around in the back and Catherine returns her attention to watching Connor through the window. She places the hatchet on the floor beside her and removes her boots, belt and jacket, setting them next to the hearth out of the way. When Sonehso:wa returns, he is carrying a pan and a bowl piled with various herbs and utensils. He spreads his supplies around and starts grinding up herbs. He looks over at Catherine.

"Ratonhnhake:ton told me a little of how he found you. He will keep you safe until you can return home. I am very sorry for frightening you. I did not know that you had been harmed."

"It is alright. I just feel foolish for attacking you now that I know you are his friend and you would not have hurt me." He laughs his hearty laugh.

"It would not be the first time a pretty girl has threatened me," He looks into the mortar and smells the herbs and then brings the mortar towards Catherine so she can smell them as well. He sprinkles a little more of one kind into it and resumes his grinding. They are silent for a time while he coats the venison with the herbs. Catherine stares into the fire, thinking about what Sonehso:wa said about her being safe with Connor. The way he pulled her close when she was out of her mind with panic earlier runs through her mind. It was what she needed and he somehow knew. He held her in such an intimate pose, even having his hand on her neck, he could have kissed her if he had wanted and she isn't sure she would have stopped him right away. She had never felt as safe and comforted as she had at that moment. Francisco never touched her like that. Even on their wedding night, he seemed frustrated with her for weeping over her father. He took her virginity from her that night but never gave her consolation while she grieved. Catherine hates herself for comparing Connor to her husband again. What kind of wife does that? She forces herself to stop thinking about what a shambles her life has become before the tears that are stinging her eyes spill over. She regains her composure and turns to Sonehso:wa again.

"Connor… Ratonhnhake:ton, said that you are from the On… Ono… a different tribe."

"Onondowaga. My tribe lives many days' travel to the west of here. His people used to live even farther to the east of us until recently when they had to move west after the war. We are both Haudenosaunee, just different tribes. I moved to his tribe when my father married a wolf clan woman of Ratonhnhake:ton's tribe, making us brothers in a way. I could have stayed with my mother's deer clan but I went with him for a change in my life. To my surprise I found the Kanien'keha:ka to be welcoming. Ratonhnhake:ton and I became friends. Well, we were not friendly at first, but once we settled our differences we found that our personalities were more alike than we thought."

"Why were you not friendly with each other? If you don't mind my asking."

"I do not mind. When I first came to his village, I was suspicious of everyone. I felt that he was especially arrogant and rude for not being around the tribe for more than a day at a time, with months of absence in between. He dressed differently then, like a white man. I assumed that he dressed that way because of only being half Kanien'keha:ka and I thought it was disrespectful to our people. When he came back and started dressing like us again, I followed him when he left to hunt once. He knew I was tracking him because suddenly he turned from where he was in the trees and shot an arrow at me. It only grazed my shoulder and I shouted up to him my derision for his inability to shoot, my opinion of his heritage and sadly, of his mother's relationship with a white man. That was enough for him. I got the reaction I wanted. He jumped down and we fought though it did not turn out as I had expected. He disarmed me right away and knocked me down. He stood and watched me get back up, then effortlessly knocked me down again. He did this repeatedly until I had two black eyes and was bleeding from my mouth and nose. I finally quit trying when I realized he was intentionally shaming me and had deliberately missed his shot earlier. He had a few choice words of his own for me before he walked away. I had not managed to hit him even once. After that, I adopted a grudging respect for him, more for his fighting abilities than anything else."

"Insults are not a good way to make friends. Or throwing hatchets at people." Sonehso:wa laughs his distinctive laugh at Catherine's embarrassment.

"You are right. But it turned out fine. I saw how much everyone actually liked him and that he contributed greatly to the village despite his many absences. When I approached him and apologized he was like a stone at first but later he accepted my apology and we spoke for a long time. Since then, we have gotten along like old friends. I suppose it helped that we were both feeling like loners among our own people." He lays the pan on top of the logs and adds some grease. When it is smoking, he drops the meat on the pan. The venison sizzles and an enticing aroma drifts over to Catherine. Sonehso:wa notices her breathe deeply.

"You like how it smells?"

"Yes. What herbs did you use?" Connor comes in and smells the air too. He removes his jacket and gear and washes his hands next to Sonehso:wa, marveling at how comfortable Catherine seems to be around him as he tells her about the herbs he uses for cooking and handing them to her to look at. The sun is gone outside and he wonders how much conversation he missed.

"How is it that you can come in here not even two hours ago, have a tomahawk thrown at your head and then make the woman dinner?"

"Maybe I am trying to impress her. She is too good for you, my brother."

"She is too married for either of us." He shakes his head, smiling and catches Catherine's eye, making her blush. Their combined flattery embarrasses her but she knows it is only an effort to make her smile. She finds herself relaxing around them more and more, knowing that she really is safe in their presence. Sonehso:wa's candid story about his and Connor's friendship further reassures her that she has nothing to fear from either of these men. Although she had never had any men in her life whom she would consider friends, she feels almost as at ease in their company as she ever did with her female companions. Sonehso:wa's presence and easy laughter had become a catalyst of change for her.

Sonehso:wa distributes the venison between the three of them and they all enjoy the meal.

"Well, brother, I suppose I have to admit that you are a good cook." Sonehso:wa appears smug until Connor continues.

"You have always been better at women's work than I." Connor's mouth twitches as he tries not to laugh. Sonehso:wa narrows his eyes at Connor and then turns to Catherine.

"Do you agree with Ratonhnhake:ton, WildCat?" Catherine shakes her head, her hand on her chest.

"Please do not make me choose sides!" Sonehso:wa smiles at her and turns back to Connor.

"A peace-making diplomat! If I am so good at women's work, then you need more practice, my friend. That means I get to watch you clean these dirty things." Sonehso:wa spreads his hands out toward their dishes. Connor scowls at his friend and then leans over to look at Catherine.

"I know when to admit defeat with grace, unlike our friend here. Did you know I once had to teach him a lesson in respect a few years ago? It was so pitiful." Sonehso:wa pushes Connor back with his arm.

"Not that again!" Connor shrugs his shoulders at Sonehso:wa and gets up to collect the plates. Catherine hands him her plate.

"Do you want me to do them? I am the one woman here, after all."

"No. But I promise I will not break them." Connor throws a sinister glare at Sonehso:wa and he merely grins widely in response. Connor brings the dishes to the porch and while he is gone, Catherine cleans up the hide and lacing scraps she originally had hurriedly swept into a pile. Sonehso:wa leans back on his hands behind him and watches as Catherine throws the small scraps of hide bit by bit into the fire. She tries to picture the two men physically fighting with each other but finds it difficult when she watches them laughing and talking together, hitting each other with sarcasm instead of fists. When Connor reenters the cabin, Catherine is stifling a yawn and Sonehso:wa is poking at the fire and adding more wood.

"I thought wildcats were more active at night…" Sonehso:wa says when he sees her yawn again. Catherine shakes her head.

"Not this one." Connor sits next to Sonehso:wa again, smiling.

"Let her be, she expended all her energy trying to kill you earlier."

"That is true." Sonehso:wa laughs. Catherine takes her boots, jacket and belt and hoists herself up with the walking stick. She walks over to the door, drops her boots and heads back towards the bed.

"Good night, gentlemen. I will go to bed now. I really am tired." The men nod to her and Connor jabs his friend in the ribs with his elbow when he opens his mouth to say something. He raises his eyebrows at Sonehso:wa. His friend replies in Kanien'keha.

"I was only going to tell her not to let you in the bed with her."

"I figured you were going to say something foolish. The woman was raped, and you were going to say that? What is wrong with you? I am trying to gain her trust not fling it into the fire!"

"She knows I joke. But maybe that would have been going too far," he grudgingly admits.

"Maybe? She sleeps with my tomahawk under her pillow." Connor snorts. Sonehso:wa eyes the hatchet on the bear hide where Catherine had been sitting. _Not tonight apparently_. He decides to change the subject.

"You need to tell her your suspicions about her husband. The longer you keep it from her, the worse it will be when she finds out."

"I know, I know. I just do not want to destroy the one thing she has left for hope."

"What do you mean, 'the one thing?' She has you."

"What would you have me do? You think I can just carry her off to be my wife and we will live in the village forever? If her husband is as corrupt as I think he is, he will not rest until he has proof of her death. He had at least seven men that I personally counted under pay to eliminate her. The hired men thought she was taken by a local tribe. How long until he finds our village? Would you put everyone at risk for a woman?"

"It would depend on the woman. I know I have not had the best history of judging character but she seems different. She is not the typical weak white woman. She is fiery and aggressive, gutsy. She suits you. It is not every day you encounter a woman who will look you right in the eye and throw a tomahawk at your head. Did she try to kill you when she met you, too?"

"Actually, she did, though far less effectively than with you. She thought I was yet another man trying to rape her, just as she thought of you. And I admit I like her fire and determination, even when the odds are not for her. I offered to train her how to use my weapons yesterday and she accepted. She is more like us than most white women I know. But she is still very afraid. When I came inside to talk to her after your encounter with her, she was hiding in the storage area nearly hysterical with fear. She has lost everything she loves and I am afraid of what could happen if I take away her hope of returning to her husband, even if it is the last thing I would ever want for her. I am afraid that by telling her what I know it will crush her, and simply holding her while she cries will not be enough." Sonehso:wa narrows his eyes at Connor and he throws his hands up.

"Yes, I want her to be with me. I desire her. But I respect her as well, so I will not make requests of her heart that she cannot meet right now. It is too soon after her ordeal and I cannot be sure that she would even want me anyway. She is only just starting to trust me and I do not want to throw that away."

"Brother, she wants you, she just does not know it yet. Have you not seen the way she watches your every move, and not with fear or suspicion but with interest? She silently asked your permission to go inside with me earlier and trusted your response. And she let you hold her in your arms while she cried? You must be a blind man… Her actions are telling you what she cannot or will not say." Connor sweeps his hand back in Catherine's direction, trying not to raise his voice.

"I will not coerce this woman to do anything. She has had enough of being forced for many lifetimes. She must come to her own conclusions." Connor turns to face the fire and rests his elbow on his knees and his face in his hands. He lets out a groan of frustration.

"I never implied that you should force yourself on her, brother. Calm down. I only want you to see that _you_ could be the one to make her happy. Do not give up on that possibility by letting your feelings of duty or your desire to protect her from a painful truth get in the way. She needs to know all of what you know and then she _can_ make a decision. Do not keep it from her." Sonehso:wa picks up Connor's tomahawk from where it is sitting on his other side and places it on the floor in front of Connor's crossed legs.

"She trusts you more than you realize." Connor contemplates what his friend said. The argument to just tell her what he knows is a compelling one but the thought of striking down the one thing she seems to be holding on to for hope is merciless. He understands what it feels like to watch hope slipping through his fingers. Then again, hiding the possibility that her own husband wants her dead while letting her think he cares is just as cruel, if not worse. He stares at the tomahawk in front of him, watching the firelight reflecting on the surface of the scarred metal blade. He thinks about the number of times he himself brought the weapon to her, believing it would make her feel better when she had left it someplace out of reach. When she threw herself into his arms earlier, was that not a display of trust in him, maybe even affection? How much affection is really there and not just conjured up by his desire for her?

Catherine listens to the two men quietly conversing in their native tongue by the fire as she unlaces her hide shirt down at the neck and up at the sides to remove it. Once in bed, she props herself up enough to watch them without appearing to be. It is uncomfortable to be on her back but their interaction is getting intense. They sit side by side, Connor's form wider and taller than Sonehso:wa's though he too has broad shoulders. She understands only 'New York' but their inflections indicate a heated conversation. Connor looks and sounds irritated and at one point he swings his arm back and gestures towards her. Abruptly, Connor turns toward the fire and slumps his shoulders forward. He is clearly upset about the conversation and Sonehso:wa's face carries a look of concern and determination. He sounds like he is reasoning with Connor on something. She sees Sonehso:wa pick up Connor's hatchet and place it in front of his friend. When they are silent, Sonehso:wa looks over at her and she is so focused on them that she forgets to pretend to be sleeping. He meets her eyes for a long time and tilts his head at Connor. He slowly nods once before turning fully back to the fire again. His message is clear: she needs to talk to Connor about their conversation. Catherine rolls on her side and wonders what is so important that they would argue about her.


	5. Chapter 5

Day 5

Catherine wakes in the morning to find the cabin empty. She feels so tired and can't imagine why since she has gotten more restful sleep here in the past few days than in the three weeks during her captivity. Her body is healing quickly thank the Lord, so maybe that is why she feels so worn down. She swings her legs over the side of the bed and tries to stand without the walking stick. After her dash yesterday without it she feels confident that she can walk unassisted at least for short distances if she is careful. She stands up and walks to the fireplace to put her boots on and feels fairly comfortable with her pain level. The hatchet is lying on the hearth. Sonehso:wa's bedroll is sitting under the porch window where Connor keeps his during the day so she knows he hasn't left their company yet. Outside, the sun is shining but when Catherine steps out she regrets not putting on her hide shirt and jacket. Her fabric shirt does little to protect her from the bitter cold and she ends up rushing her steps more than she would have liked. By the time she reenters the cabin, she is limping again. She knows she will need time to heal completely but she can't help feeling frustrated with her limitations. She puts on her hide shirt and laces herself into it and decides to explore the grounds around the cabin. At the bed, she puts on her jacket and belt and takes her walking stick from its place against the wall. As she passes the hearth, she picks up the hatchet and loops it into her belt, remembering the quiet conversation the two men had had the night before. The meaningful look Sonehso:wa had given her is still fresh in her memory as well as, strangely, the way his long hair had looked hanging down his back when he had returned to facing the fire.

Back outside, she feels much warmer properly dressed. She walks over to the small frozen falls, following the path Connor had made in his trips to and from the cabin. From there she then pushes her own path over towards the outhouse and passes behind it, entering the thin outer reaches of the woods. A structure is in sight only a short ways away and she heads toward it. When she reaches it, she discovers that it is a small smoking shed with a stack of hickory logs piled just inside. Moving deeper into the woods, she finds the snow shallower and easier to walk through, especially under the pine boughs. The fresh air feels good and so does the exercise. For the first time since her capture she feels really free again. Winter birds flit in the upper branches of the trees and Catherine walks with her head tilted back trying to see them, just as a child would. The cliff wall the cabin is built against runs on for a while to her left and tapers down to a lower area that looks climbable in the near distance. Catherine's foot seems to be tolerating the walk well and she makes it her goal to reach where the wall tapers low enough to sit on. She walks slowly, being careful not to overextend herself since she has to walk the whole way back. After almost thirty minutes, she makes it to her destination and sits with a sigh on the rock. She leans carefully back against the rock face and rests her head against the sunlit wall. Closing her eyes, she considers taking a nap.

Somewhere behind and above her, a rustle of branches disturbs her quietude. She stiffens and sits upright, afraid to even wonder what it is. A wild animal, maybe? She gets up and cautiously climbs up onto the place where she was sitting. She can just barely see over the rock and to her surprise, there is a dark chestnut colored, fully saddled horse caught by its reins in the branches of a shrubby copse of trees. From time to time, the horse shakes its head and tries to free itself but only manages to get more entangled.

Catherine carefully hitches herself up onto the next highest ledge, lifting her stick up after. After two more ledge climbs she succeeds in dragging herself on her belly onto the upper edge of the cliff, panting with exertion. The horse has seen her and is snorting and stamping his front hooves. She pushes her hood back and approaches the frightened animal, extending her hand to him slowly. The horse rears, squealing, and tosses his head before letting Catherine rest her hand on his nose. She leans close and breathes into his nostrils. He tosses his head again and then forcefully nuzzles her shoulder, pushing her backwards into the snow. She falls down hard, dropping her walking stick and letting out a surprised cry. Catherine recognizes the saddle now that she is close and her stomach clenches with nausea. It is one of the horses that belonged to her captors. She gets herself back up and pats the horse again. Drawing Connor's hatchet from her belt, she works at freeing the beast, occasionally returning to his head and patting his nose and cheeks whenever he starts to get agitated. Once she gets the horse free, she is even more exhausted. Tucking the hatchet back into her belt, she examines the horse from head to hoof. He has lost some hair on his body from the saddle being on him for so long. The saddle blanket had slipped partially out from under the saddle and the leather had irritated the animal's back. Catherine loosens the girth and pulls the blanket back in place before tightening the belt again. He snorts and sidesteps, tossing his head a few times before Catherine can calm him again. He eventually quiets and drapes his head down over her shoulder. She rests her head against his neck and scratches him along his mane.

"Sorry, horse, but I am going to need you to wear this for just a little longer." Catherine pats his nose again before leading him to a rock. Balancing her stick as upright against the rock as she can, she mounts the horse from his right side to avoid pressing her injured foot in the stirrup. He sidesteps again when her weight is on his back and Catherine leans forward and caresses his neck, talking to him. Her feet dangle above the stirrups but Catherine doesn't need them. She guides him back toward the rock so she can take up her walking stick and then turns him to walk down the rest of the slope in order to head back to the cabin on the correct level. The walking stick balances comfortably across her legs, leaving her hands free to hold the reins and pat him. She speaks to him sweetly, caressing his neck and picking branches out of his mane.

Up ahead and just before she would turn to head back towards the cabin, she sees a man leaning against a tree watching her with his arms crossed. Her heart jumps and her stomach clenches with terror until she realizes it is Connor. How did he find her? She continues the rest of the way to him and he is smiling up at her when she stops the horse. Hs eyes sparkle under the shadow of his hood.

"That was really impressive, WildCat" he says to her.

"What was?"

"The way you handled freeing him. He was very skittish and you calmed him down in just a few seconds." He reaches up and pats the horse under his forelock, getting a forceful nuzzle on his chest in return that makes him step back to steady himself. Connor says something to the horse indignantly in Kanien'keha but continues to pat him.

"I told you I love to ride. I adore horses. Sometimes I wonder if they can understand what I say to them."

"Probably. Some people just have a way with animals." Catherine's cheeks are pink from the cold and her exertions to free the horse. Her eyes are bright and Connor sees the passion she feels about riding showing in her face. She is covered in a fine dusting of snow from her climb up the ledge and from being pushed down into the drifts by the horse. Her hair shifts in the wind and she tosses it back from her face. She looks seriously at Connor.

"Connor, I'm sure that this horse belonged to one of my captors. They treated their horses badly and I want to get him back to the cabin and take all this tack off of him. It's hurting him. If my foot didn't bother me so much I would not have even gotten on to ride but I think I walked too far today." Connor nods his head in agreement.

"It is one of theirs. They had two tied up outside when I found the place and I untied them to keep anyone from leaving to get backup. They ran off when the place burned down; I would have taken them otherwise. It would have been an easier trip for you if we had had them." Catherine rests the reins on the horse's neck and lets Connor lead the horse through the woods towards the cabin with his right hand on the bridle. She watches Connor as he walks, really seeing the way he carries himself for the first time. His stride is confident and smooth; he walks with his shoulders back and his head high. His arm is bent up at the elbow and his fingers are twined in the leather loops of the bridle loosely. His other arm swings by his side.

"How did you know I was going to be where I was? I didn't even know I was heading that way." Connor looks over his shoulder at her and pulls his hood back to see her better.

"I did not know. Sonehso:wa and I were tracking the horses. We found one and I continued on to track the other when I saw you climbing up the wall to approach this one. I considered coming over but I was so fascinated by how you handled him, I did not want to interrupt your magic. You walked a good distance from the cabin. I am surprised you made it so far. Your foot must be feeling better."

"It was, but now it hurts again. And I'm really tired. I wanted to challenge myself and I think I overdid it." Connor continues to lead Catherine and the horse back through the woods, cutting across her earlier winding path through the snow. When they near the cabin, Catherine sees the other horse standing next to the building and Sonehso:wa rubbing him down with a handful of crumpled dry grass. He calls out to them in Kanien'keha and Connor replies while Catherine waves. Sonehso:wa switches to English.

"You found him!"

"WildCat found him. She did all the work of freeing him. He was caught in some bushes." Connor guides the horse up next to the cabin walls and then comes to Catherine's side, reaches up to take her walking stick and leans it against the cabin. She swings her leg over to the side and Connor raises his arms to her. Catherine leans down and rests her hands on Connor's shoulders, allowing herself to slide off the saddle. He catches her against his stomach and eases her to the ground with his hands around her waist. He keeps his hands on her for a moment while she balances most of her weight on her good foot, only releasing her when she takes her hands off of his arms. She turns to face the horse and bends slightly to unbuckle the saddle. When she has it undone, she stands upright and finds herself pressed against Connor as he lifts the saddle off the horse. She gasps softly at the unexpected contact but Connor only steps away with the saddle in his arms. Catherine watches him carry it to the porch where the other one is and place it down. She turns back quickly to the horse so he won't see her watching. She takes the blanket off the horse and inspects the animal's damaged skin again, talking softly to him. There are sores on his skin from the extended contact with the saddle and moisture that had collected underneath from the snowfall and the animal's sweat. Farther back on his rump are scars from the hard treatment he had gotten at the hands of his previous owners.

"Poor beast. Those men are gone; you're ours now. We will make you feel better, I promise. Maybe you will carry me home some day soon." She feels the horse's legs and lifts each hoof to check for damage. Luckily, he seems to be fine from his adventures in the woods for the past several days.

"How does he seem to you?" Sonehso:wa is looking at Catherine from beside the dappled grey horse he had been brushing and Catherine glances up at him from where she is standing, removing the bridle from the dark horse.

"He's in good condition despite having had a saddle on for days and days. What about yours?"

"This horse is a strong one. He has a few scratches and some missing hair but he will be fine." He pats the animal's side.

"I'm happy to hear it. These horses were abused by their previous owners so they could have been a lot worse." Sonehso:wa nods and Connor comes over to Catherine's side again. He has a handful of the same coarse dry grass Sonehso:wa was using to groom his horse.

"If you wish to rest, I will make sure he is comfortable."

"Thank you, Connor. I think I will go rest." She takes the walking stick from the side of the cabin and leans heavily on it as she walks the short distance to the porch and enters. Once inside, she removes her snowy jacket and boots, placing them on the hooks and hide Connor uses for his own gear. She considers lying down but decides instead to sit by the fireplace and make some tea. She adds wood to the fire and pushes the pot of water close to warm. Her foot aches so she unties the bandage on her foot and puts some of the remaining salve on it. While the water heats, she lies on her left side on the bear hide and rests her head on her arm. As the fire burns hotter she closes her eyes in the warmth and drifts off.

"You haven't said anything to her yet, have you?" Sonehso:wa asks Connor when Catherine is inside.

"No. But I thought about what you said to me last night and you are right. I will tell her as soon as I can. I am having trouble thinking of a way to bring it up." He turns to the dark horse and starts rubbing him down with the grass.

"Just be honest with her from the start."

"I will, but I don't want to say to her, 'Catherine, I think your husband wants you dead, so you might as well stay with me so I can finally kiss you,' she probably wouldn't leap into my arms with happiness." Sonehso:wa laughs and shakes his head, going to the other side of the horse to help Connor groom. He looks at him over the horse's back.

"That would be nice if it worked like that!"

"Yes, but she would probably punch me instead. You have a better way with women than I do." The two men laugh together. They finish grooming the horse and move them over to the area behind the cabin where the cliff forms a natural enclosure that curves into the woods. They move stacks of cut wood from against the cliff to create a low barrier for the horses. It wouldn't contain them if they wanted to leave but the horses seem to have no interest in escaping. They wander over to the side of the wall and start nibbling on the ends of the dry grass poking up through the snow.

"I think I will go for a walk. Maybe you should go check on your wildcat." Sonehso:wa gives Connor a meaningful look and picks up his bow and quiver from the porch, slinging them onto his back as he walks away. Connor opens the door to the cabin quietly and is surprised to see Catherine asleep by the fire, the water boiling in the pot and a mug of herbs ready for brewing. He thought she would be in the bed at least. He silently shuts the door, hangs his coat over hers on the hook and removes his boots, setting them beside hers on the hide. He regards the two sets of boots side by side, hers small and his large and something tugs at him. Could he really accept settling into a more domestic way of life after living a solitary one for so long? He never felt that he could do that before, even admitting to Lyle, the doctor at the Davenport homestead, that he would not make a good husband because he is just too busy. But what if the woman he were to be with would come with him on his trips here and to Boston and New York? What if she were to accept and understand his secrets? Not even Sonehso:wa knew the full extent of his past, only that he maintained regular contact with certain people in the East from during the war. Catherine stirs, her fingers curling into the bear fur next to her face and Connor turns his attention back to her. He shouldn't think about any of this now. Everything hinges on what is to be done about her husband and if not her husband, whoever is behind this and ultimately what Catherine wants. All his wishful thinking would blow away with the wind if she goes back to her husband.

Connor kneels by Catherine's bent knees and leans over her slightly to pull the pot away from the fire with the poker. He scoops some of the water into the tea mixture she had prepared and then makes a cup for himself. Sitting back, he bends his knees up, resting his elbows on them as he studies Catherine sleeping beside him. He looks at her unwrapped foot, noting that the slash is continuing to heal well. It shines slightly from the salve she put onto it. He follows the attractive line of her body up to her face. Her eyes are open and she is watching him look at her. Connor shifts uncomfortably and turns his head to face the fire, hoping that she doesn't feel he was taking liberties with his proximity.

"You are awake." He speaks into the fireplace.

"Yes."

"Are you feeling better?" He dares to look back at her face and she is still looking back at him. She nods slightly.

"How long was I asleep?"

"It has been about an hour since you went inside. The horses are penned in somewhat and Sonehso:wa is out in the woods." Catherine pushes herself up until she is sitting on her hip and supporting herself with one hand on the hide. She reaches over and picks up the mug of tea Connor finished making for her. She takes a sip and wonders if now is the time to bring up Connor and Sonehso:wa's conversation last night. Connor is looking into the fire again. He seems preoccupied but Catherine decides to try.

"Connor… What were you and Sonehso:wa talking about last night? It seemed as if… it was about me." Connor sighs and looks down at the floor. The beads on his braid beside his face shine in the light of the fire.

"It was about you." He puts his mug down on the hearth and turns to face Catherine. He raises his eyes to her face and tries to think of a way to start.

"Catherine, what kind of man is your husband, really? Does he love you?" His question disturbs Catherine and Connor can't believe he let it come out that way. Catherine sits up and tucks her feet under herself. Her hand strays to her chest. "Connor, I… What kind of question is that? Why would I ever doubt his love? He married me!" Her eyebrows shift together as consternation builds in her face.

"I am sorry to ask such a personal question. But I am concerned about whether he really loves you and if he treats you kindly. This is important, Catherine, I need to know." Connor is looking intently at her and his eyes search into hers. His face is deadly serious and Catherine thinks deeply on his question. Her initial avoidance of his query reminds her that she has asked herself the same thing before. She breaks eye contact with Connor and looks away. A growing tightness wraps around her chest and she licks her lips.

"I, um…" She looks back at him and his intensity is disconcerting. Again she avoids his gaze, slightly shaking her head as she considers whether she should lie to Connor or not. She decides that lying isn't worth the risk of later discovery.

"He isn't unkind to me. That much I can assure you of. He has never struck me or tried to hurt me in any way. He makes sure I have what I need and then some. I have money to spend on foolish things if I desire. I have Anika still as a companion and lady's maid, paid by Francisco. I may have had to give up some of the things I enjoy, like sewing, but I think if Sergio were not in the same house as we are he may not have restrained me in that way."

"But does he _love_ you?" Connor asks when she meets his gaze again. Catherine's breath catches in her throat and her eyes sting. She takes in a deep, shaking breath and squeezes her shirt in her fist. She lowers her face and whispers.

"Not the way I wish he would." She hangs her head and manages to regain tenuous control of her emotions.

"When he came over here from Spain, it was like we had to learn about each other all over again, even though we had written for years. He always said kind things, complimented me, but I never felt that he wanted to know me. I mean the me in here." She lifts her clenched hand from her chest and presses it back again flat as she raises her head again to brave Connor's gaze. She sighs and shakes her head.

"But we were always out with other people, always surrounded and unable to speak in private. I thought things would change when we were married."

"Did they?"

"In some ways, but it's so hard to tell. My father died on our wedding day and I was so sad. Francisco…" Connor feels terrible watching her struggle to open up to him. He tries to soften his expression to encourage her but the knowledge of what he needs to tell her is tearing him inside.

"He never really tried to comfort me. He left me alone with my father for his last moments on this earth when we returned from the wedding. I was still alone when his body was taken away. Only after he was gone did Francisco come to me. He bade me come to dinner, but I couldn't eat. It was the longest dinner I had ever had with Francisco and his father." Now that she is speaking of it, it is hard to stop. Only Anika had known the truth of what her life was like.

"At last dinner was over and Francisco took me to his bed." Connor's eyes narrow, becoming steely and dark. Frowning, he tilts his head back slightly.

"He took you the very day your father died?" Connor's voice is low and quiet.

"It was our wedding night. It was his right as my husband." A tear slides down her cheek and she dashes it away.

"What about your right to mourn your father?" Catherine tips her head back to hold in her tears and sighs in a huff, her shoulders dropping.

"What of it? I had that night to weep for the loss of my father and my maidenhead. After that, I was expected to be presentable at all times in the presence of Sergio and any visitors. Sergio made that clear to Francisco and he relayed the message to me. Weeping was only to take place behind closed doors and out of sight. I got very good at hiding my sadness. I suppose I even started to believe my charade." She looks at Connor and meets his eyes, wiping her tears with her fingers.

"So now I suppose you have your answer. I've tried to love him in my own way, to appreciate what he gives me. It got easier as each day went by. I reminded myself that my father didn't know it would be this way; he sought only for my protection and welfare. I hid my concerns from him about Francisco and he died believing that I was happy." Connor is quiet as he considers her reluctant admission. She sighs again and continues quietly, shaking her head and picking at one of the stitches on her pants.  
"Every major change in my life has always been the will of others. My father's, my husband's… I know that those decisions were made for me with the best of intentions, but I can't help feeling like I am only being dragged along in the wake of _their_ ideologies." Connor is struck by the words coming from her. While her circumstances are vastly different from his own, the efforts he had made to affect the people and events around him had turned to ashes in his hands as he also felt swept up in more powerful currents that he knew he would never understand. Catherine looks earnestly into his eyes.

"I want to make my own decisions but I don't want to fight so hard that I destroy my life. My husband… what if what happened to me has already changed me too much? When I see him again will he even want me back, ruined and polluted as I am?" Connor's brow furrows and he looks sharply at Catherine.

"I would hope that he would be happy to see you alive and generally physically unharmed, aside from cuts and bruises, which will heal. It was not your fault what happened to you and he should be there for you to help your heart heal."

"He should, but Anika is more likely to be the one to help me, just as when my father died. I hope Francisco will be happy that I am alive. I just worry that too much has happened for me to ever be who I was before or for anything to be the same again between us. How can it be? I have been had by three strangers. I am as dirtied as a whore now. What if Francisco is… what if he rejects me?" Connor's face hardens to stone and his voice becomes low and harsh.

"Any man who would hold something like this against his wife is no man at all. He should have protected you and he failed. If anything, what happened to you is _his_ fault and no one else's." Connor gets up and paces across the width of the cabin, clearly disturbed. As he continues, he raises his voice and his gestures become more emphatic.

"I may not understand many of the traditions of your people and the disparities between the way men and women are treated, but I do know this: The husband's role is _always_ to provide for and protect his family. To lay blame on an innocent woman for wrongs committed against her is unacceptable and is only a means to redirect his own shortcomings." He returns to face Catherine.

"If when we get to New York, I find out that he blames any of this on you, or worse, was behind it, I will become personally involved." Catherine is shocked at Connor's sudden display of anger and his accusation towards her husband. Despite her own fears that Francisco would indeed blame her for what happened, she could never believe that he would actually have caused it to occur. Connor's hostile attitude is frightening. If he were to take action against her husband, Sergio would surely have him imprisoned or even killed. Since Connor had already displayed his deadly capabilities in defense of her once, she has no doubt that he would do it again, especially based on what she is seeing of him now.

"Connor, please, I am sure he would not back anyone harming me, how could you say that?"

"Are you really sure? What I saw the other day leads me to believe otherwise." Catherine is confused more than ever. Fear grips her heart like a cold hand. She shakes her head, trying to understand.

"What did you see?" She is truly frightened now and Connor is clenching his fists tightly. He starts pacing again restlessly.

"I returned the day after I found you and scouted the place where you were held. The cabin had burned to the ground and there were four men searching the ruins. They were looking for you. For proof of your death." Catherine clutches the neckline of her shirt and stares, horrified, at Connor.

"What are you saying? That what happened to me was… _planned_?"

"Those men were employed by someone who wanted you dead." Catherine makes a strangled sound in her throat and her heart feels like it is about to explode in her chest. Connor crouches down in front of her and takes her by the shoulders.

"Do you have any enemies at all, anyone you can think of who would want to harm you in any way? That is why I needed to know if your husband loves you, which he clearly does not." Catherine shakes her head and leans away from Connor, resisting his grasp on her shoulders.  
"I still don't understand why you think Francisco is behind this! What haven't you told me?"

"The men spoke of their employer. Someone called The Don. When you told me your husband is from Spain…" Catherine clutches at Connor's elbows and tries to push him away. Her face is horrified. He releases his grip on her shoulders and she doubles over with a cry, her left hand still on his elbow.

"No, no! Are you sure they said that?" She covers her mouth and looks like she is going to vomit.

"They mentioned the man twice by that title." Connor heart sinks as he watches her reaction to his words.

"Oh God. That isn't my husband. That's Sergio. He makes all his hired men call him that even though he isn't one." Connor is silent as he takes in this new information. After a moment, he speaks quietly to her.

"So your father in law, the man always looking to make money, pushed you and Francisco to marry before your father died and then hired men to abduct and kill you. Are you sure your husband was not involved?" Catherine sits up again and scowls at Connor, pushing his elbow out of her grasp and away from her.

"Still you think Francisco wants me dead! Why? He isn't like his father!" Catherine's voice rises until she is nearly shouting. Connor's voice remains low and steady but his anger singes every word.

"Because I do not understand how any man could refuse to allow his wife time to grieve the death of her beloved father before making her submit to consummating the marriage. He seemed to be in a rush to ensure that he would retain ownership of your inheritance, if I understand how the law of white men works. As far as I am concerned, he was the first to rape you." Catherine cries out and slaps Connor. She struggles to her feet and backs away from him as he turns his face back to her. Tears stream unchecked down her face.

"How dare you compare my husband to those… monsters! They're nothing alike! _Nothing_! You don't understand how things are where I'm from." She backs into the shelving along the wall, her hand knocking a book onto the floor as she grasps the edge. Connor's left cheek stings hotly from her slap. He raises his hand to it and touches it with his fingers.

"I understand enough to know that the term 'savages' is severely misplaced when white men like your husband use it to refer to my people. Women are not just pretty little possessions to us, to be used whenever a man wishes and then tossed aside. Your men treat women like property, as if they own them, body and spirit. I have seen it before. Your husband should have let you grieve instead of selfishly using you for his own satisfaction, wedding day or not. I will _never_ spare him criticism for treating you that way... like a true savage." He watches as Catherine leans against the low shelving, her head turned to face the floor and her hand over her mouth.

Catherine breathes heavily and tries to digest what Connor has said to her. His people are different but how could he have called her husband a rapist? She is still reeling from the level of hatred Sergio must have had for her to want her dead. Was it always only about her inheritance? Did he push Francisco to marry her just for that? Is that really why Francisco never comforted her or even bothered to ask if she wanted to wait to consummate their marriage? Connor has made a terrifying and powerful case against her husband and she can see why he is so angry about it. Another thought falls heavily like lead in her heart. She looks over to where Connor is still kneeling on the hide. His cheek is red where she struck him. His hands are resting on his thighs and he is hunched forward looking at the floor. Catherine sinks to her knees clutching the shelving. Connor looks up at her and their eyes meet. His eyes are still filled with the fire of his angry frustration.

"Connor…" her voice is a croak and she swallows hard, trying to quell the rising sour taste in her mouth.

"Connor, he never had me again after that first time…"

"What…?" Catherine is silent for a long time, her hand over her mouth and her head shaking. She finally looks over at Connor again and lowers her hand.

"As you said, he made legally sure he had everything I could give and never touched me again… I can't see how it could mean anything else now." She hugs herself and leans her head against the shelf. To Connor, she looks impossibly small and defeated, as if her last statement caused her entire presence to collapse inward as it left her lips. She speaks to him without looking up.

"Can I please be alone for a while? I need to just… be alone." Connor gets up and takes his boots and jacket, not even putting them on before leaving the cabin. On the porch, he dresses and starts to walk down the edge of the gorge. When he is part way down the trail, a single scream of anguish carries to him from the cabin, followed by the sound of something shattering. He wants to return to her but she asked him to leave. He knows he handled the situation badly. When he doesn't hear anything else, he reluctantly continues walking. Sonehso:wa meets him as he is coming back up the gorge. He takes in Connor's face with an amused grin and whistles.

"Were you really stupid enough to ask for a kiss?" He stops smiling when he sees how serious Connor's face is.

"It did not go well, did it?"

"It definitely could not have gone any worse. We need to give her some time alone. Not only was her husband a part of this, her father in law was the one to hire the men who took her." Sonehso:wa opens and closes his mouth in shock, for once lacking something to say. He falls in beside Connor and they walk on in silence, the afternoon sun washing out as clouds roll in from the north and west.

Catherine weeps against the shelving, wishing she had never survived to know this. Nothing in her life that she thought she had exists anymore. She feels like a ghost, pale and transient, fading away in the sunlight. And what of Anika, poor girl, probably dismissed by Sergio and thinking she is dead. What will become of her? With no place to go to, she will be forced into who knows what to survive… How could she have been so thoroughly deceived for so long? And her father... He thought Francisco would take care of her. Why didn't she speak up to him of her concerns? But what good would that have done a dying man? He would have died in misery, not in peace!

Catherine crawls over to the hide and picks up the mug of tea. It has gone cold and she clutches it in her trembling hands. Her body shakes as she struggles to contain all her misery, anger and pain from her entire world crumbling to dust and revealing her reality to be nothing but a dream. Her life has become a nightmare with no hope of awakening. The pain in her heart threatens to consume her fully and she screams out loud, flinging the cup into the fireplace with all her force. It hits the back corner and explodes, a shard flying out and nicking her just below her right eyebrow. The stinging shock of it drops her to her hands and knees again and she curls up on the bear hide holding her hand to her bleeding face. She rolls onto her back and stares at the ceiling of the cabin, pressing her hand hard on the gash. Thoughts roll through her head like a violent storm, mixed up and difficult to sort out. No matter how she turns her tangled future, there is no hope to be found, no thread to cling to. Her attempts to understand how everything started to go wrong feel futile and she tries to push it all away, filling its place in her head with a fervent wish for her heart to just stop beating. It stubbornly defies her will. The effort takes its toll and she drops into a troubled sleep.

Connor and Sonehso:wa return to the cabin when the sun is setting. It is silent and dark through the windows so Connor opens the door a crack and peeks through it only to see Catherine sleeping on the bear hide, her head turned away from the door and one arm flung over her face. He motions to Sonehso:wa to be quiet and they slip inside, retreating to the table to remove their boots and jackets. Catherine wakes despite their care. She sits up and looks at the men before getting up and limping to the bed. She crawls under the covers and pulls the blankets up to her chin. She knows they saw the blood on her face but she doesn't care to talk about it. Rolling onto her side, she tries to shut out the world again in the hope of escaping her pain.

Connor and Sonehso:wa have a brief whispered conversation about Catherine.

"Brother, she is injured. What happened in here?"

"Nothing I did. We spoke difficult words, she asked me to leave and so I left. I heard her scream and the sound of something shattering. It must be from that." Connor looks around the cabin and spots a shard of pottery on the floor by the storage door. He nods in the direction and Sonehso:wa turns to look. He spots a few more pieces of broken pottery in the fireplace. Connor sees them too.

"Just leave it. She does not seem like she wants to talk to me anymore so I will not even ask. She probably hates me now."

"Just give her time."

"Time is not going to change that I just destroyed her life."

"You did not destroy it, her husband did. You just had the unpleasant task of telling her." Connor picks at a groove in the table and frowns.

Sonehso:wa gets the fire going again and Connor retrieves some meat from the porch to cook. They cook in silence, listening to Catherine sighing and tossing restlessly on the bed. Finally, she gets up and silently joins them at the fire, sitting down next to Connor. Connor dips a cloth into some water and holds it out to her. At first she ignores him but then takes it from his hand. She scrubs the blood off her hand and wrist and then gently tries to clean her face where the blood had run down her cheek and back into her hairline. When she finishes, she holds the cloth in her lap. She stares at it and folds and refolds it in her hands nervously. Connor lowers his hand lightly over her wrist as she continues folding the cloth in her lap. She considers shaking him off but lacks the energy. She looks up at Connor and her eyes are shining with tears. He meets her eyes and keeps his voice soft.

"Catherine, I spoke thoughtlessly earlier; I was upset. I should not have made my point in such a cruel way. Please forgive me."

"I will not apologize for striking you, if that's what you're getting at." Catherine's words are clipped and tart. Sonehso:wa turns partly away from them as they speak, trying to give them privacy. Ratonhnhake:ton did not elaborate on how Catherine came to striking him and he isn't surprised that he had said something careless in the heat of anger. Smirking, he pictures Catherine hitting him for his indiscretion. That probably took him by surprise. With some effort, he suppresses a laugh. He knows the situation is a serious one but he can't help being amused at Ratonhnhake:ton's self-made predicament.

"I do not want you to. I deserved it."

"I need to figure out what I'm to do with what you told me. I am truly lost, whether I'm dead or with no home or family to return to. I have no idea what will become of me now." She wipes her face with her sleeve, wincing when she rubs her cut eyebrow.

"I will do what I can to help you, if you wish it. I have… contacts… in New York who might be able to assist you." Catherine just nods and Connor takes his hand off hers before turning his attention back to the fire. The rest of the evening passes quietly. Catherine only eats a few bites of food before setting her plate aside and curling up with her arms wrapped around her knees. She stares into the fire, her thoughts burrowing deep into her heart, looking for escape. The men are silent as well. She jumps when Connor touches her knee lightly.

"You should try to sleep, Catherine." She turns her head at his whisper and looks at him quietly, her face drawn and pale, the pinkness that usually colors her lips and cheeks faded. Without a word, she rises to her feet and walks away from him. She does not bother taking off her hide shirt as is her usual habit, opting to just crawl under the covers fully dressed. Connor lowers his head into his hands and sighs.

"You did the right thing, brother, even if it upset her. She needed to know." Sonehso:wa whispers in Kanien'keha. Connor shakes his head.

"She may have needed to know, but I handled it all wrong. She never stopped fighting through every terrible thing she has endured; she never stopped! But now she is broken and it is because of me." Hours after they all retire, Connor listens to Catherine softly crying in the bed. His heart aches for her and he longs to go to her, take her in his arms and hold her but she would push him away with disgust. Blaming himself fully for her misery, he rolls on his side and tries not to hear her sorrow. He touches his cheek and wishes the pain had not faded so easily while Catherine's marches steadily onward, cruelly eroding her spirit with every passing second.


	6. Chapter 6

Day 6

The men are up and out of the cabin again when Catherine wakes and she wonders how she slept through them getting up and starting the fire. Her eyes are scratchy and the weight of yesterday's revelations crush against her chest. She wishes Anika were there with her. The thought of Sergio throwing Anika out in the middle of winter with no place to go makes Catherine sick. Though she is a resourceful girl, she is also very pretty and a pretty girl alone on the rough streets of New York is not a good combination. She is almost guaranteed to become a victim. Catherine clutches her stomach and cannot stop herself from picturing Anika's beautiful face and rosy lips bruised and cut from an attacker, her long blonde hair tangled and her body ravaged by the same kinds of men who captured her. Catherine looks out the windows and stares at the snow falling. Lacking the ambition to get up, she rolls on her side and tries to go to sleep again but the images she had conjured up about Anika persistently fill her head. Her heart rate increases steadily until she feels as if it will burst from her chest and every breath she takes seems restricted by an invisible band around her ribs. A rising panic that she is suffocating threatens to overtake her.

Desperate for fresh air, Catherine drags herself out of bed, gets into her boots and jacket and goes out into the weather. She leans against the porch railing and breathes deeply of the cold air until some of her anxiety settles. Everything in sight beyond the cover of the porch is a muted grey-white from the falling snow. The horses are indistinct shadows near the cliff beyond where Connor collects ice for water. Shallow, indented paths are all that remain of the well used trails they had made through the snow. A single trail of partially filled footprints leads toward the horses and back. Two sets of deeper footprints, edged by upturned snow, head down the trail along the gorge away from the cabin, revealing the direction Connor and Sonehso:wa had gone. Even those borders are being softened by the steady snowfall.

Catherine lifts the hood of her jacket over her head and steps off the porch. She forges her own trail to the horses along the previous path, her shorter stride not allowing her to follow in the original footprints. Instead, she keeps her feet close to the ground, dragging her legs through the snow and plowing a furrow through to each large footstep. The horses are huddled together against the cliff beneath a natural overhang and Catherine steps between two piles of logs to see them. Both horses have their saddle blankets on and she is grateful that Connor and Sonehso:wa thought to keep them warm. She pats each horse and kisses their velvety noses, the bristly hairs of their lips brushing against her chin. The dark chestnut nudges her shoulder but Catherine expects it and manages to stay on her feet. She walks to a pile of logs and sits, the horses following her and looking for more attention. Over by the cliff, the rumbling of the gorge waterfall is much less obvious, allowing the crisp ticking of the snow hitting the branches of the trees and the sides of the cabin to fill the air. The horses snort every now and then, sending bursts of mist from their nostrils.

Surrounded by such majestic, natural beauty, Catherine wishes she could say that she is happy. Here is everything she loves about this land, yet her heart is scarred by the betrayal of the very man she had vowed before God to spend the rest of her life with. Even here, miles from where her husband and father in law are, their fingers dig into her flesh, trying to pluck her soul from her body. They may not have succeeded in taking her life but they continue to plague her mind. Whether Francisco had a significant influence in Sergio's machinations or not, he still played his part. If not for Connor's timely intervention she would be dead and she reminds herself that death is what they both had wanted for her. Catherine hardens her heart to any affection she may still have fostered for Francisco before yesterday's dark realization. It has no effect on the crippling sadness that pulls on her body, making it feel many times heavier than reality. Catherine rests her forehead on the long face of the chestnut horse and allows her hot tears to trail down her cheeks. She climbs up onto the pile of logs and shimmies onto the chestnut's back, settling herself astride the blanket. Once there, she leans all the way down and rests her body on the horse and her face on his neck. His shaggy winter coat is warm on her cheek and the stiff hair of his mane tickles her ear. She closes her eyes and breathes in the dusty, sweet hay smell of the horse, absently patting his neck with one hand while the grey horse nuzzles her other.

Connor and Sonehso:wa are trekking along the cliff wall towards the cabin from setting snares in the woods when Connor pulls up suddenly. Sonehso:wa nearly walks into his back and has to jump to the side to avoid him. Connor's shoulders are rigid with tension as he gazes through the trees, his eyebrows drawn together with worry and his rapid, shallow breathing through his open mouth barely creating any haze in the chilled air. Up ahead, where the cliff curves south toward the gorge, Catherine is lying on the chestnut horse; Connor is staring at her. She is certainly a pretty sight, her pale face against the dark hide of the horse and her hand reaching to the grey horse to pat him. Her curly hair hangs down from inside her hood and dangles over the horse's shoulder. Connor is completely besotted with her, and Sonehso:wa senses his friend's frustration at being unable to act on his feelings. Compounding Connor's troubles is his overblown guilt at being the conduit for her sadness.

"I cannot face her right now. She looks so relaxed and if she sees me she will not be." Connor speaks barely above a whisper and in Kanien'keha, as if Catherine could hear him from so far away. Sonehso:wa humors his needless caution, keeping his voice just as low.

"Wait here. See how she reacts to me first. Maybe I can talk to her for a while and she will not leave when you show up."

"Fine. Just do not say anything foolish."

"I do not intend to get hit like you did…." He casts an impudent look over his shoulder and walks through the trees towards Catherine. Connor leans his shoulder against a tree and peeks his head around to watch their interaction.

Catherine opens her eyes and looks up when she hears the low, squeaking sound of Sonehso:wa's feet in the snow as he approaches her. She braces her hand against the horse's side and sits up, steadying herself when he shifts his hooves.

"Is the dark one yours? You seem to favor him." Catherine looks past Sonehso:wa, searching for Connor. When she can't see him, she turns back to Sonehso:wa.

"I do like him. The grey is friendly too but this one understands me." Sonehso:wa goes to the grey horse and pats his neck.

"Just as well. I prefer this one myself. Ratonhnhake:ton tells me you are quite the rider." Catherine's face goes blank and she turns her red rimmed eyes away.

"He doesn't know what kind of rider I am." Her voice is flat and emotionless. Sonehso:wa watches Catherine swallow hard and the muscles of her jaw clench tightly. She is holding herself together but just barely. He moves closer to the chestnut horse and extends his arm as if to touch her foot, stopping just shy of it.

"Catherine. He did not intend to hurt you by telling you what he knew. He did not even want to tell you so soon but I made him speak. He knew it would be hard on you and he was right, I can see that. Do not punish him for wanting to protect you." Catherine's lips quiver and she presses them tightly together as she looks down at Sonehso:wa standing next to her. His eyes are full of sincerity and though Catherine respects his attempts to support his friend, she is still angry.

"Even though what he found out is probably true, he had no right to say my husband raped me." Sonehso:wa's mouth falls open as she sighs angrily and turns away again, wiping away the tears that fall from her eyes.

"I… did not know he said that. Is that why you hit him?" Catherine nods, still looking away from him. Sonehso:wa sighs and lowers his head, collecting his thoughts.

"I know Ratonhnhake:ton well, and he says things without thinking when he is upset. He probably felt he needed to get his point across urgently. He has his own ideas of honor sometimes that are difficult to understand or live up to. He did not mean to hurt you by saying what he did. He felt strongly that you had been wronged." Sonehso:wa places his palm on the toe of her boot and she turns back to him.

"He most certainly got his point across and it hurt me as well. Unfortunately, while I don't feel my husband necessarily raped me, I do feel that the rest of Connor's theory is right. My husband wanted to get my inheritance legally and that meant marital consummation… however morally wrong Connor thinks the circumstances were. Whether he considers it rape or not is nothing I can change now. It's done and I've lost everything. I may as well be dead because I can't go home now. I have no home. My maid and best friend is probably dead or forced into prostitution to survive, and it's all because of a stupid inheritance, which I care nothing at all for." Catherine's voice had risen as she spoke and she finishes her statement by sweeping her hand through the air. She shakes with renewed tears and Sonehso:wa squeezes her foot in his hand.

"Do not say that you should be dead! There is always another path. Always another way." Sonehso:wa's conviction is touching but Catherine has no faith in his words.

"Maybe for you, Sonehso:wa. Not for me. And Anika's only hope is to find a place as a servant in another house before something terrible happens to her."

"Would it make a difference to know that Ratonhnhake:ton cannot even face you for the shame he feels at your suffering?" Catherine frowns at Sonehso:wa with skepticism but when he continues to hold her gaze with his, the hard line of her mouth softens. She takes a deep, shaking breath and rubs her eyes with her fingers.

"Where is he?" Sonehso:wa tilts his head in the direction from where he came.

"He is over that way hoping you will not hate him forever. He blames himself for your pain."

"Is he really so bothered by how I feel?" Sonehso:wa smiles up at her and lifts his hand from her boot, holding it out towards the forest and Connor.

"More than you know…"

Catherine purses her lips and spurs her horse, jumping the barrier of stacked wood and guiding the horse with her knees along Sonehso:wa's footprints. Connor is no stranger to betrayal. She thinks about what it must have been like for Connor to grow up wanting only justice for the death of his mother, biding his time until he was old enough and strong enough to leave and seek out training. He had mentioned that despite everything he did he still lost his personal battle. No wonder he is so incensed at her situation. His past ensured that he would never tolerate injustice in any form, including Francisco taking her to his bed the very day her father died. A large part of her anger towards Connor crumbles in the light of this new understanding.

Connor pulls his head back behind the tree when Catherine starts toward him, wondering why he trusted his wily friend not to reveal his whereabouts. He scowls and rests his head against the tree. When Catherine nears, he steps out from behind the tree, reaching up to the horse to stop him. Catherine looks down at Connor, meeting his eyes. His face is mostly calm but the sides of his mouth and the corners of his eyes are tight with concern. She knows what she can ask of him so he can help her.

"You said you have contacts in New York?"

"I do."

"What kind of contacts?" Connor considers his words before answering.

"They are people I met and recruited during my training with Achilles and the war. They form a network of information gatherers and are people of action."

"Can they get information on Anika? Try to save her from ruin if it isn't already too late?"

"I can send word to them, yes. They will find her if she is there." Catherine's expression becomes more open and relaxed. Her shoulders drop as she sighs.

"Since there is nothing to be done to save me, I want to try to save her." She runs her fingers through her horse's mane.

"I will make sure that everything possible will be done to find her and protect her. I promise you that, Catherine." Catherine shifts her gaze from her hand in the horse's mane over to Connor.

"Connor… Sonehso:wa spoke in your defense for what you said to me. While I still don't fully agree with certain things that you said, he stands behind your intentions. He told me he pushed you to tell me what you knew, that you preferred to shield me from the awful truth. I wish… I wish there had been nothing to tell, but since there was, I'm glad I know now. And… I understand why you are so upset about what happened on my wedding day. I don't hate _you_ for it. I hate this whole situation; I hate myself most of all for being so naïve… " Connor watches the snow collect on the fur of the hood around Catherine's face and on her curls hanging over her shoulder. He takes a step closer and slides his hand along the horse's neck.

"None of this is your fault, so there is no reason to hate yourself. I should have found a better way of telling you what I knew. I am sorry for being so harsh. I should have kept my opinion of your husband to myself."

"Well, Sonehso:wa helped me to see it from your perspective. He's a loyal friend." Connor smiles wryly.

"Loyal enough to reveal my hiding place?"

"That's not fair. I asked him to tell me." Connor shrugs and Catherine reaches her hand down from the horse's mane and touches the backs of his fingers. Connor takes her hand in his and squeezes it.

"I forgive you for what you said. I know now that it was only because you cared. You and Sonehso:wa are the only people I have in the world that I can trust, it seems. We need to stick together." Connor's shoulders relax and some of the tension leaves his face at her words. Sonehso:wa had not been exaggerating when he said Connor had been harboring blame. Connor sighs and squeezes her hand again.

"Nya:wen, Catherine. Thank you." He releases her hand and she straightens, resting her hand on her leg. Connor steps back and Catherine clicks her tongue, signaling her horse to walk. She turns her head to look at Connor as she rides away. He watches her go among the trees until she is almost out of sight, easily maneuvering the horse with her legs.

When he turns to walk back to the cabin, he is hit in the chest with a snowball and hears Sonehso:wa laughing hard from somewhere above in the trees. Connor staggers and scoops up snow to return the favor. He reels around, scanning the branches by the cliff for his friend. When he spots him and throws the snowball, Sonehso:wa dodges away, yelling over his shoulder at Connor.

"I wanted to do that while you were talking to her!"

"You are lucky that our conversation went well, brother." Connor shouts after him. He runs beneath the trees, following Sonehso:wa and flinging snowballs whenever he can grab a handful of snow. Sonehso:wa rains pinecones on him from the branches, laughing wildly at every near miss and forcing Connor to dodge behind trees and dive to the sides to avoid being pelted with the sharp projectiles. Connor stays behind a tree until Sonehso:wa starts to creep closer. While he waits, he hides two pinecones inside two large snowballs. If Sonehso:wa is going to play dirty, so will he. At the right moment Connor rolls out of cover, cradling his ammunition against his chest in one hand. Sonehso:wa is in mid jump to another branch when Connor plots his first throw. He anticipates that Sonehso:wa will duck when he lands and lobs a fortified snowball at where he imagines his chest will be. To Connor's unmitigated satisfaction, the snowball hits Sonehso:wa in the back of the head, snow exploding away from the pinecone on impact. Sonehso:wa shouts in shock, the blow nearly toppling him from the branches.

"I surrender!" Sonehso:wa yells as he jumps down into the trampled snow below the tree.

"Too bad. I was hoping I could use this one too." Connor holds out the second oversized snowball with a smirk, crushing it in his hand and letting the snow fall through his fingers until he is only holding the pinecone. Sonehso:wa rubs the back of his head in dismay at the sight of it.

"That is why it hurt so much! Who taught you to fight so dirty?"

"You did, brother." Connor tosses the pinecone to Sonehso:wa and starts walking toward the cabin. Sonehso:wa catches it and flings it to the side with a laugh.

Inside the cabin, Connor grows serious.

"I need to go to the city of Albany to send some messages to my contacts in New York. More than likely, I will then travel all the way to New York itself. Catherine is worried about her friend, Anika."

"Yes, she spoke of that to me just before I told her where you were." He grins and Connor rolls his eyes.

"It will take several days of riding for me to reach Albany. Would you be willing to stay here with her while I am gone? As a hunted woman, she will be safer here where no eyes will see her especially if I go all the way to New York. I promised I would help her so I will do all that I can to secure her friend's safety. I only hope I will not be too late."

"Catherine fears her friend is either dead or made to be a prostitute to survive. It does not sound like there is much hope for her."

"It does not matter. I need to try. If she is alive I have to find her."

"I can go with the messages if you would prefer to stay here with your wildcat. I am not used to living in a place like this. I prefer a longhouse or the open air."

"I refuse to put you at risk."

"It is what I would prefer, brother. I have travelled far before and dealt with white men. And the more time you spend with her, the better. You probably would kill me if I won her heart while you were gone." Sonehso:wa laughs as Connor frowns.

"Fine. You go. I will write the letters now. There is a general goods store in the center of Albany owned by a man named Isaac Young. You can send the letters ahead on one of the fast ships by speaking with him. I have sent many messages through him so you can tell him you come in my name. My white name, Connor. He also manages a sum of money for me. The cost of the messages can be taken from there, as well as whatever you need for your travels. He is trustworthy." Sonehso:wa nods as Connor speaks. Connor retrieves an item from the storage area. It is a leather belt attached to the two long side arms of a triangular symbol with a curved bottom. The symbol is made of steel and is the same shape as Connor's unique tomahawk blade.

"This will be the proof of your connection to me. It is the symbol of our brotherhood. Show it to Isaac when you tell him you come from me. When you reach New York, you will find my contact there living with his family in the eastern part of the city. His name is Jacob Zenger. He works as a bodyguard for the owner of the Bank of New York. Introduce yourself as my emissary; you must show him the symbol. He will not trust you otherwise. Others who are hostile to our cause would recognize it so be cautious. I do not want you involved in that conflict more than necessary, for your own safety. Jacob is the only one of my contacts who is married, so if it comes to removing Anika from a bad situation, his wife Wilhemina will be able to help her. She runs a clothing shop near where they live that can also be used as a front for her employment if necessary.

"The second contact I will write to is Jamie Colley. He will only get involved if Jacob needs him to, but in the event that you cannot find Jacob, find Jamie instead. He is a doctor in the western part of the city," Sonehso:wa palms the buckle, looking it over. He scrutinizes Connor's face for further explanations but recognizes when he is not willing to expound. He loops the belt around his waist, tucking the buckle under his own belt and covering the triangular symbol with the beaded leather.

"When would you have me leave?"

"When you are ready."

"I will leave today." Connor acknowledges his offer silently and collects his writing implements.

Catherine rides through the forest thinking on what Sonehso:wa told her about Connor and holding it up to what she has experienced during these few days she has been living with him. Until last night, she had never seen him so outwardly angry, even when she had told him of the events during her captivity. Yes, he had been angry then but he had also killed all of her captors, thinking he had freed her from them. This is different. He knew that someone else had orchestrated what had befallen her and still lived. The fact that it was her father in law and husband only made him even more furious. Finding out about her wedding night simply became the grease thrown on an already nearly out of control fire. Catherine can no longer blame him for what he said.

The more she thinks on her wedding night, the more horrible it seems despite still believing that any man would have taken his marital right. The whole time was such a blur and she hardly knew what was happening, her grief was so great. Now, as the thinks on it the details stand out in hideous clarity. She remembers Anika leaving with her dress, petticoats and corset, giving her a small encouraging smile as she closed the door. Francisco entered in a robe and untied it, letting it drop to the floor. He climbed naked on the bed, lifted her shift to her waist, pushed her legs apart and rubbed his own saliva on her to ease his entrance. She felt no arousal from his touch and the pain of his penetration seemed minor compared to the pain in her heart, though his deeper thrusts near the end had made her gasp. She had focused her eyes on the ceiling behind Francisco's head as he moved over her. When he was done, he had simply withdrawn himself and allowed his ejaculate to trickle from her onto the sheets. He picked up his robe, put it on and requested that she have Anika change the sheets immediately before leaving her alone in the room. He hadn't kissed her or made any effort to arouse her.

Anika had found her curled on her side weeping and held her until she regained some control of her emotions. Between shaking sobs, Catherine told Anika of the experience. When she was through, Anika dampened a cloth at the bedroom ewer so Catherine could clean herself off. They changed the sheets and remade the bed together and Catherine did her best to prepare for sleeping next to the man who was now her husband. After that first night, Francisco did not ask her sleep with or give herself to him again so Catherine stayed in her separate bedroom with Anika.

Now she is here, having endured the brutality of the men who had made her their plaything. She is certain she would have been murdered by morning if Connor had not shown up. She sighs and wonders what she will do now that she can never return to New York. Maybe she could go someplace far from there, find work as a lady's maid or seamstress and live in a boarding house. She could start making her own decisions. If Anika is alive, she could take her along and they could go away and never come back. Her husband would not find them if they are careful and change their names.

Her thoughts stray in a different direction. What if she stayed here, with Connor? His protective overtures toward her and his righteous anger regarding her abuse make her believe he could be a safer alternative than striking out on her own. He has been so kind to her, tolerating her distrust and fear with patience and tenderness. What would it be like to have someone like that as a husband instead of a man like Francisco? The thought of Connor as her husband makes her stomach nervous and fluttery. He isn't unattractive, despite being so different from what she is used to with his dark skin and Indian features. His body is hale and very well formed. In part, his powerful presence and deep seated emotional intensity make him even more attractive. He had already shown his willingness to care for her and he had compassionately consoled her, touching her face so softly with his hand when he held her in the storage room.

Would he want her if she offered herself to him, if only for the protection he could provide? It would make her no better than a common whore, maybe worse. Now that she is ruined, she doubts he would want her, so why bother even wondering? She is still technically married anyway.

Sonehso:wa's words on Connor's sense of honor surface and she realizes that simply offering her body to Connor as payment for his protection would be a bad idea. He would never take advantage of her offer, however willingly she gave it, if she did not love him. She feels drawn to him in some ways but everything in her life has changed so much she is afraid to let herself feel anything anymore. Could she grow to care for him or would she forever be doomed to live her life bound to him by nothing other than obligation?

During her considerations, the horse had turned back toward the cabin on his own without her noticing. She refocuses on the woods around her and recognizes the trail leading up the gorge. At the top of the trail, she turns the horse to the improvised paddock and lowers herself to a stack of wood. The snow is churned up all over the place and pinecones and dark green needles litter the snow beneath the trees, a few pinecones sitting at the end of tracks in the snow as if they had been thrown. She pictures the two men chasing each other around throwing pinecones like children. She walks toward the cabin and stamps the snow off her boots and shakes off her jacket on the porch. Inside, Connor is sitting at the table writing something and Sonehso:wa is packing up his bedroll, his weapons lying on the floor in front of where he is kneeling by the fireplace. The men look up at her as she walks in the door.

"What's going on?" Sonehso:wa turns his attention to his bedroll and Connor lays his quill down.

"I am writing to my contacts in New York and Sonehso:wa has offered to take them to the shipping lines out of Albany for me. He will then continue on to New York and meet with my contacts."

"You're leaving right now? It's still snowing." Sonehso:wa looks back up at her when he hears the concern in her voice.

"The sooner we get the messages sent, the sooner we will find her, Catherine. It is better not to wait." Catherine touches her hand to her mouth and nods, unable to speak for the choking gratitude filling her. Connor stands and approaches her.

"It will take time for Sonehso:wa to get there and more time for the ship to take my notes to New York. Once my contacts find Anika, I have requested that they either employ her if she needs it or monitor her current situation and make sure she does not come to harm. Once Sonehso:wa gets there, they will decide what to do for her. I need your help though." He holds his hand out toward the table. Catherine takes a seat and Connor faces her in his.

"I need you to provide a description of Anika for my contacts, anything that will help them find her." Catherine swallows her emotions and focuses her mind on keeping herself in control. Connor picks up the quill and dips it into the ink. Catherine shrugs out of her coat.

"Her name is Anika Reitz. She is twenty four years old, German. She is about my height, just a tiny bit shorter, with long, straight, light blonde hair that she either wears braided and pinned at the back of her head or loose and held back from her face with a scarf. Her eyes are large, round and green. There are freckles across her nose and cheeks that make her look younger than she is. She has an oval face with pink cheeks and is very pretty." Connor finishes writing what she described and then looks up at her.

"What is her build? Is she thin?"

"Yes, she is thin. She has an… attractive figure, fuller on top than me. Oh, do we have to include that? It sounds provocative and inappropriate."

"I think we should keep it. You do not want them wasting time looking for the wrong person. Does she have any remarkable features that would be easy to identify?"

"Um… she has very small feet."

"I meant something like a scar."

"No, she doesn't have any scars that I can think of. One of her front teeth is a little crooked."

"That is good. They will have to look for her with what we have here if you can think of nothing else. Is there any way they can make sure they have the right woman? Something they can ask her that only she will know?" Catherine thinks for a moment.

"She tore her skirt when she was sixteen while we were sneaking back into the house one night. Ask her where we went and why we had to sneak back inside. She should tell you that we secretly went to a tavern on the other side of the city and got exceptionally drunk. No one knows that but us. My father never found out though I have no idea how we didn't wake him with our foolish giggling and bumping into things." Connor glances up at Catherine and tries to imagine her at eighteen, drunk and stumbling into her father's house late at night with her friend. He finishes writing and then pulls over a second letter and duplicates the information. He folds each letter in thirds when they are dry and flips them over, addressing them and then sealing them closed. Sonehso:wa comes over to the table and Connor hands the notes to him. He tucks them into his bag and then looks to Catherine.

"I will ride as fast as I can to Albany and get these on their way. I am sure we will find her, Catherine." Catherine stands up and hugs Sonehso:wa. He hugs her in return, surprised at her sudden display of affection.

"Thank you. She's like a sister to me and I'm so grateful." Sonehso:wa turns to Connor when Catherine releases him and he stands as well.

"Brother." He speaks in Kanien'keha.

"Brother." Sonehso:wa pulls on his wrap, puts his weapons in their places, picks up his bag and bedroll with his blanket inside and walks to the door. He exits without looking back, his braid swinging slightly behind him. He passes by the windows carrying one of the bridles and a leather strap from a saddle. A few minutes later, he rides by the windows on the grey horse, his belongings strapped behind him, trotting down the trail along the gorge. Catherine has the curled fingers of both hands covering her mouth and her eyes shine with tears of gratitude. Connor can think of nothing to say so he reaches out to her and touches her upper arm. She turns to face him and he takes a step closer. When he slides his hand up her arm towards her shoulder she leans in until her forehead is against his chest. She lets out a single gasping sob and wraps her arms around his waist, holding onto him tightly. Connor slowly embraces her, sliding his hands across her back underneath her hair. Catherine heaves a sad sigh and grasps the back of his shirt in both of her hands below his shoulder blades. She turns her head so that the side of her face is against his chest and he slides his hand across her shoulders and up onto her head where he strokes her hair. She speaks into his chest as he holds her.

"Do you really think they will find her? Sonehso:wa is very optimistic."

"I hope so. The last thing I want to do is promise you something I cannot make happen. But they will try. They are good at what they do, WildCat, so I am not without all hope." His voice vibrates in his chest against her cheek. When he stops talking he rests his face on the top of her head and breathes in deeply. Fears for Anika's safety swirl in Catherine's head.

"Do you trust these people?"

"With my life. And Sonehso:wa will be there to help. He understands your care for her." Connor's earnest conviction is comforting to Catherine.

"Then I trust them too. Thank you for this. I really mean it." Catherine draws a breath, still shaky with weepy appreciation for Connor and Sonehso:wa's immediate action on her behalf. Connor leans back so he can look at Catherine. He keeps his hands on her shoulders and Catherine moves hers to the sides of his waist.

"I will not have someone you care about left in danger. It is the least I can do to make up for what I said to you." Catherine shakes her head.

"Stop, Connor. I realize now how foolish I was to think that what Francisco and I had was love. You were right and I needed to be woken up."

"You are too hard on yourself." Connor squeezes her shoulders gently.

"If I had not married him, I never would have been in this situation, Anika would be safe and…" Catherine stops before she breaks down into tears again.

"Would she? All your talk of inheritance and becoming a pauper makes me doubt whether either of you would be safe or happy." Catherine frowns and lowers her head.

"Maybe. Maybe you're right." She sighs and lifts her head again.

"But then I would not have met you, and I am glad that I did." She hugs him again and then steps away from his embrace. Connor tries not to cling too tightly to what she just said as proof of her feelings for him though he desperately wants to. Focusing on Catherine's worry for her friend, he attempts to justify how long she held onto him while they spoke and her additional hug. She is just sad and missing her friend. But what of her final words to him? His heart is craving her affection and his mind keeps returning to Sonehso:wa's insistence that Catherine is attracted to him.

Connor goes outside to set up the smoker for the venison and the hare that are hanging frozen on the porch. He had given the last of the smoked meat in storage to Sonehso:wa for his journey. Catherine knows he will be outside for some time and she is aching for a bath so she pushes the large pot close to the fire to warm and pours water into it from the bucket Connor always keeps filled by the door. She finds some rosemary in the storage area and drops a few crushed sprigs into the water to scent it. As Catherine stares at the flames, she thinks about Anika. She hopes that she is not in danger despite her mind creating every possible scenario of hurt and sorrow.

The thought of Sonehso:wa travelling for many long days and sleeping in the cold at night to deliver letters on her behalf touches her heart. For him to take a request of Connor's so seriously speaks volumes on his respect for him. Connor. Will he not stop travelling into her thoughts? When he holds her she feels better about everything, almost as if she is not quite so alone in the awful world she has found herself. It seems dangerous to consider opening her heart to him so soon after realizing the truth about her husband. However, the more she thinks about it the more she wants to do just that. After all she has been through why shouldn't she allow him to be her comfort if he wants to? When she has needed it the most his embrace is powerful and cathartic. She isn't prepared to give herself to him completely despite what she had considered earlier; the thought of sexual intercourse no matter the man or circumstances fills her with dread and sickness, making her want to curl into a dark corner and tear at her crawling skin. Would that ever change with him?

Connor carefully cuts the venison and hare into long thin strips in preparation for smoking. Once he has hung the meat in the shed he starts a fire in the bottom area. He thinks about Catherine and her complicated situation. He knows they can't stay here in the cabin forever. Returning her to New York is impossible while her husband and father in law live. He has contacts in Boston and of course Davenport that he could write to if she desires to go to either place. Still, he wonders how safe she could really be based on the conversation of the men looking for her. If they would travel this far north and west to find her, could they not travel just as far again if they were to get word of her presence? Connor thinks about his village to the west of here. Would his people accept her among them? They accept him but his mother was one of them and he grew up there. It would not be the first he had heard of people joining themselves to tribal communities. Freed slaves and white men alike had taken on the lifestyle of other tribes and were adopted as one of them. But the men searching for Catherine had already voiced their suspicion of her being taken by a passing group of Haudenosaunee. Would that mean they would give up their search or would it only make them target the area tribes?

By the time he finishes with the smoke shack, the sun is setting. Down here at the level below the cliff, the shadow of night crosses over the landscape sooner than up above when the sun dips down in the west. As Connor walks back toward the cabin, he sees Catherine through the window, kneeling with her feet tucked under her and her back to the door and windows. He strides closer, watching her as she appears to be leaning over a bowl beside her. Her hair is covering her back and side but when she pulls it over her left shoulder, her body is bare underneath. Connor halts, transfixed by the sight of her. The largest of her healing lash marks is distinctly visible across her back. Connor follows it down her body and his eyes linger on the curving of her hips before travelling over her legs. His arousal is urgent and demanding.

Unaware of his presence, she continues her bathing. Her arms shine wetly as she reaches her hand over her shoulder, arching her back as she stretches to wash between her shoulder blades. The light from the fireplace illuminates her skin, turning it a light coppery color and casting deeply contrasting shadows over her body. Her breasts change shape slightly as she raises her arms, their small yet full roundness illuminated by enough firelight to reveal her hardened nipples. A silvery line of water runs down the valley of her spine from the cloth she holds, disappearing into the shadow dividing the perfect curves of her buttocks. Her flat stomach moves as she breathes and Connor catches himself holding his own breath as he tries to remain undetected. Almost like an answer to his silent wish, Catherine rises up on her knees to wash her legs, exposing even more of her body to his sight, every movement she makes driving his desire further. Returning to her seated position, Catherine turns her head and starts to run her fingers through her hair, dampening them from time to time with water from the bowl. Afraid that she will see him outside, Connor moves back from where he is standing.

He knows he cannot enter the cabin now, not while she is naked. If he knocks, she will know he saw her bathing. Somehow he is sure she would know he not only saw, but watched her for some time. He decides to simply return to the smoke shed and wait. The image of her body remains before him and his insistent desire for her refuses to lessen. He thinks of when he last saw her body so exposed, covered in bruises and cuts. Though he found her form attractive then, he felt only anger for her injuries. This time, her body appears to be nearly free of all evidence of her abuse, aside from her back. There are no dark bruises on her thighs or arms. Her breasts are perfect and unmarred by rough handling. All he had seen of her was the most exquisite display of beauty and he is left wanting more.

Though he is much farther back from the cabin, he can still just make out her figure by the fire. She puts her long sleeved fabric shirt on and then stands to pull her hide pants back on. Connor wishes he were close enough to still see her clearly but knows it would not help his state of mind at the moment. All he can think of is her naked body against his own, his hands bathing her and his mouth roving over all of her, kissing, tasting, giving. He is still fully aroused and fighting to regain control of his desire. Sternly, he reminds himself that she is not his for the taking and he cannot imagine her this way. Despite her allowing him to hold her, even seeking out his embrace, she has not given him leave to touch her intimately. If he continues to fantasize about her sexually, how can he stay objective? One overly bold physical act on his part could destroy the trust she has given him, ruin any chance he would have at actually winning her heart and guarantee he would never touch her the way he longs to.

Once she ties the lacing of her pants she moves out of sight. Connor closes his eyes and leans against a tree, counting to one hundred silently in Kanien'keha and again in English, forcing himself to breathe slowly. He counts a second time in both languages for good measure and then starts walking toward the cabin again, following the same path he had travelled before. He enters the cabin his usual way, without knocking. Catherine is in the storage area. He breathes in relief for the additional respite from her seeing the truth on his face and directs his attentions to hanging up his jacket and removing his boots. The smell of rosemary is heavy in the air, giving him an additional sensory stimulus to his already overloaded imagination. The bowl and cloth Catherine was using sit by the fire, the rosemary settled on the bottom of the bowl. Catherine comes out of the storage area with supplies in her hands for making dinner and Connor walks over to take the items from her. She is not wearing her outer shirt and this fabric one fits her body even more closely than the hide one. Her hair is wet and falls in dark waves over her shoulders. It recalls to him how she was the night he carried her here, her body lifeless and cold, her hair dripping. He tries to focus on that instead of this very alive, warm and undeniably beautiful woman standing before him.

The smell of hickory smoke is strong on Connor when he takes the things she had collected from her. He has an expression on his face that is difficult to read. He seems almost nervous around her yet he makes eye contact with her several times. Perhaps he is uncomfortable knowing that she was bathing while he was outside. Even if she had gotten rid of the water, her hair would still be wet. There is nothing to be done about that necessity; he will have to get used to it. Once Connor has taken the things from her, she brings the bowl outside and flings the bath water over the railing. She comes back inside and picks up her folded hide tunic, bringing it to the bed. Since she will be going to bed later and she would only be taking it off again, she decides to leave it off. She returns to the fireplace and sits down on Connor's left to help him cook. She picks up the mortar and pestle, bringing it onto her lap to grind some herbs. He looks over at her with that same odd expression on his face as she settles herself.

"What's bothering you?" He remains silent for a time and she almost asks again when he responds.

"The last time I saw you with wet hair was when I first brought you here. You had been unconscious for a long time and I could barely feel your breathing even when I put my face close to yours. I was worried for your life." Catherine becomes very still, her hands slowing and then stopping at her grinding. She thinks about Connor carrying her and leaning close, his face just above her lips. She tries to imagine what Connor was thinking at the time.

"I remember you carrying me in the woods, how cold I was, how afraid… and the pain. Then it all becomes fuzzy. When I woke up, the first thing I remember is pain again and being cold, and then the fear came back." Connor looks back at her from leaning toward the fire.

"I wish I had not been so frightening to you."

"I would have been afraid of any man that night."

"What made you decide to come with me?" Catherine looks at the floor.

"There was only one of you." Connor sits back from the fireplace and faces Catherine fully.

"You came with me because you reasoned that being raped by one man was better than being raped by three?"

"Yes. I knew the cold would kill me but you would not go away so I let you take me. I wondered if you might kill me later, but I guess I was too cold and afraid to care anymore that night." Connor's face is full of incredulity.

"I cannot believe you let me near you once you woke up here, now that I know what was going through your head! I might not have been so persistent about cleaning your injuries." Catherine thinks about when he held her head in his hand and washed the cut on her lip, the terror she felt when he started bringing the cloth down her neck and her relief when he didn't resist her pushing his arm away. All she could think of at the time were his incredibly strong looking hands closing around her neck. She would have been powerless to oppose his will yet he let her push him away with one hand.

"How long was I unconscious?"

"I do not know, probably close to two hours. I carried you over my shoulder for the trek up the gorge. Before I felt your breath on my face I was afraid I was carrying a body. Once I got you here and the fire going, you started to wake up after about twenty minutes, so that was a relief. When I knew you were alive, I concentrated on making sure your feet had not frozen."

"Good Lord, Connor! I had no idea I was that unresponsive! You carried me like a sack of grain?" She silently digests that interesting bit and shakes her head. He could have done anything he wanted to her but his only worry was keeping her feet warm.

"It was the safest way to get you here in case I slipped. I wanted an arm free to stop myself if I fell."

"That makes sense, but I just…" Catherine shakes her head.

"What is it?"

"Thank you for not hurting me. If you were not the kind of person you are, you could have done anything to me."

"Catherine. I know you have not had the best experiences with men lately but there are good ones out there."

"I know. You are one of them. Sonehso:wa is another. I'm lucky you were the one to show up… that anyone showed up at all." She hesitantly reaches over and places her hand on top of Connor's where he has it resting on his knee. He lowers his gaze down from her face and stares at her small, fair hand on top of his large, dark one. The tips of her fingers just curl over his hand and he moves his thumb to lightly caress them as he looks back up to Catherine's face. She is watching his thumb move over her fingers so he turns his hand under hers to hold her hand in his and softly squeeze it. When he opens his hand she moves back to using the mortar and pestle. He wishes he had the courage to tell her his feelings for her. Instead, he returns his attention back to the food cooking in the fire.

As they eat, Connor's discomfiture seems to fade away, much to Catherine's relief. She is glad they had discussed what had happened when he had brought her here and she marvels on how differently she feels around him now. How things have changed in just a matter of days and weeks! In less than a month, her life had changed more dramatically than she ever could have imagined. Truly, it still feels like some kind of twisted dream sequence. She desperately hopes that Anika has been able to escape a similar fate and is anxious for Sonehso:wa to reach Albany to send the letters.

The fire has burned low when they finish eating. Catherine is starting to feel the familiar creeping exhaustion that seems to overtake her earlier and earlier. Nagging anxiety at not knowing Anika's fate lingers at the edges of her mind.

"How long do you think it will take Sonehso:wa to reach Albany?"

"When I go from my village to Albany on foot, it takes about two weeks. My village is a few days' travel west of the cabin, so I imagine it will be much faster on a horse from here. Maybe a week or ten days?" Ten days! Catherine's anxiety level rises up further. Ten days more of no one looking, no protection, no action, just Sonehso:wa riding east. She feels helpless here, unable to do anything for her best friend. Her face must show what she is thinking because Connor leans closer to her and places his right hand on her right forearm, lightly sliding it up to just below her elbow. It is then that she realizes she is restlessly twirling a lock of hair between her fingers where her hands rest in her lap, as she so often does when she is preoccupied. Her hands still their movement under his touch.

"WildCat, have some faith in your friend. If she is as smart and capable as you say she is, she will not have any trouble finding another place to go, if she got dismissed at all." Connor is right. She is basing all her fears on Sergio dismissing Anika to begin with, and then if he did dismiss her, not giving her a recommendation. Considering Sergio's insistence on always appearing so high and mighty to the lowly masses, the Don himself would never commit such a social blunder and risk bringing any question upon his name. Nodding her head in agreement, she stares at Connor's hand on her arm. He is leaning on his left arm with his head near Catherine's and she wonders what he would do if she laid her head on his shoulder. A hug from him would feel so right but she is afraid of giving the wrong impression.

"Once Sonehso:wa gets those letters on a boat, they will reach New York in a day. My contacts will have at least two or three days to find her before he reaches the city. He will make sure she is safe." He raises his right hand off her arm and moves it to his right knee, palm down. When Catherine looks up at him, he is staring into the fire. Catherine tries to continue thinking that Anika has retained her position at the Martinez estate or has already found a place in another house. It is the only thing that allows her to fall asleep when she goes to bed a short time later.

Connor lies by the fire and listens to Catherine's even breathing. It has been a long time since he has lain with a woman. Dobby Carter had not hidden her attraction for him and had maintained persistent flirtation whenever he visited New York. Despite reminding her he was too busy to settle down, she continued to maneuver herself into being around him. For a woman significantly older than himself, she was very attractive and he finally had given in to her. She had been his first but she taught him many things during those months together. Their relationship had started to fall apart when he continued to resist the idea of settling down. She started undermining the decisions he was making for the New York brotherhood and he threatened her with dismissal from the ranks after her disobedience led to the death of a recruit. He should have done it, but her skills were too valuable to the brotherhood to sacrifice. Thankfully, she backed down and their working relationship, though strained, became civil again. He had not found himself interested in anyone since; at least not until now.

Images of Catherine bathing collect in his mind and he becomes aroused again thinking about her. He imagines caressing the soft skin of her firm breasts, kissing her full lips and moving down her body with his attentions until he can almost taste her on his tongue and feel her wetness on his fingers. He wants her to desire him, to take him into her willingly and eagerly, wrapping her legs around him and pulling him in deeper. The ache in his loins is unbearable and Connor rolls so his back is to Catherine, opens his pants and takes himself in hand. He feels like a lusty, hot blooded teenager as he pleasures himself, imagining Catherine vocalizing her bliss and suppressing his own groan as he climaxes into the cloth she had used to bathe earlier. He rests his head on the fur with relief after his release. Rolling onto his back to catch his breath, his erection only just starting to subside, he throws the evidence of his weak willpower into the fireplace to burn. He knows he shouldn't be thinking of her this way, as it will only complicate his interactions with her, but not satisfying his physical need seems even riskier. Every part of him needs to be in control around her so he won't frighten her off. He closes his pants over himself and pulls the blankets up, wondering if she would ever let him give her the pleasure she deserves.


	7. Chapter 7

Day 7

"Come outside with me." Connor walks to the door, puts on his jacket and boots and looks at Catherine. It has been a lazy morning for them both so Catherine is happy for a break in the quietude. She gets up, dresses for outdoors and walks outside past Connor holding the door open. He leans back inside and takes his quiver and bow from their place against the wall. Catherine is curious about Connor's sudden motivation until he walks out of the cabin with the weapon in his hand. A growing excitement fills her stomach as Connor loops the quiver on his back and bends the bow against the side of his thigh, hooking the string onto the end. They walk toward the edge of the trees.

"Maybe trying some target practice will help distract you." He offers the bow to Catherine and she takes it from him gingerly. It is surprisingly light for its size, its slender, curving span almost four feet from tip to tip. Catherine runs the tight string of sinew between her thumb and forefinger, examining where the loops on the ends hook onto the points of the bow. The narrower, carved out grip in the center of the bow is wrapped with a light colored hide twine and in two places on either side of the grip and on the arms a similar red dyed twine is wrapped as decoration. The twine on the grip shows signs of heavy use, the cords slightly discolored and shiny where Connor's hand has worn it smooth over time. On one side of the grip, a small ridge protrudes from the twine and the area just above it has also been worn to a shiny patina. A rich, honey color suffuses the grain of the wooden bow; it gleams in the sun. When Catherine touches the satiny finish, it reminds her of a piece of fine furniture that has been lovingly polished with beeswax regularly to preserve its beauty and to keep the wood soft and protected. Despite the many dings and scratches the bow carries, it has still been carefully maintained for many years. She suddenly feels Connor has given her an unusual privilege by allowing her to handle an item of such great personal significance.

"This is a longbow with a heavy draw, so do not be surprised if you cannot pull it far at first. It is made for my strength. You will need to build up yours before you can consider longer shots. This bow is good for long distance shooting and powerful close range shots." Connor faces her, grasps the upper arm of the bow with his left hand and moves Catherine's hand to the proper place in the center of the wrapped grip. He extends her arm, keeping his hand over hers. With her arm extended, her knuckles and the bow almost touch his chest.

"You can also use it as a melee weapon if anyone gets too close." He moves her hand away and turns it palm down so the bow is horizontal. Quickly, he pulls it towards him and up so that one of the bow arms crosses his neck. Catherine's eyes widen in surprise and she gasps at the unexpected violence of his demonstration.

"Hit anyone hard enough here and they will not be able to attack you because they will be trying to breathe instead. Practice it on me." A disturbing picture of Connor smashing someone in that way comes to her but she takes a deep breath and nods. He had offered to teach her and she had accepted. By doing so she had accepted that she would have to become capable of harming another person. Maybe that had not been readily apparent to her at the time but it is extremely so now. Connor is certainly capable of it. She looks up at him where the bow is still across his neck and takes in just how strong he is. A single strike from him would probably kill a man. Nodding again, she draws her hand back and then punches forward, bringing the bow into contact with his neck as he had shown her, his hand slowing her so she would not actually hurt him. Despite his protection against her strike, the move disturbs Catherine enough that she lowers the bow from Connor's neck, drops her head and works to calm her horror.

"We can do this another time." Catherine looks up at Connor and his irises shift from side to side minutely as he searches into her eyes with worry.

"No! I'm fine now. I just… realized what using a weapon really means. I have to be able to hurt people, to kill people. Like you did at the cabin."

"You do not have to kill people to be proficient with a weapon."

"But if it comes down to making that choice or dying… or worse, I need to be able to."

"That may be true but I hope you never have to."

"So do I." Catherine closes her eyes and takes a deep breath. When she opens them Connor gives her another long searching look.

"You are sure you want to do this?"

"Yes. I want to learn." Connor nods and decides he will not show her any more melee or fighting moves this day. Target practice is less directly violent. He takes Catherine's hand holding the bow and raises it up, turning the weapon to its vertical position before resuming his lesson on shooting.

"Make sure your keep your wrist flat and in line with your arm. If you are not careful and you let your wrist bend back, when you release the string it will hit your arm. That hurts. It will happen at some point simply because of fatigue but it is good to know why it happens from the beginning," He bends her wrist back and shows her how her arm shifts inward and touches the string. Connor lets go of her hand and moves to her left side. She lowers her arm with the bow.

"Stand with your left foot forward." Catherine raises the bow and shifts her feet. Connor stands beside her and watches her position her wrist correctly.

"Take the string with the first two fingers of your right hand." Catherine obeys and Connor reaches in front of her and adjusts her position until the string sits in the first joint of her bent fingers. He moves her thumb so it rests against the tips of her fingers.

"Try drawing the string." Catherine pulls on the string and is shocked at how difficult it is to move it more than a few inches from its undrawn state. She relaxes the draw almost immediately.

"It's so hard to draw!"

"Lock your left elbow, but remember to keep your wrist flat." Catherine tries again and this time she draws the bow a little farther but her arm shakes as she tries to hold the tension.

"Do not hold it too long or this practice session will be over quickly." He reaches back to his quiver and pulls out an arrow, pointing to the blue and white feathered end.

"See the notched end here? This fits onto the string. The center of the shaft rests on this little ridge on the bow. Hold the bow up but do not draw." He replaces his left hand over Catherine's on the bow and steps behind her to reach around her body with the hand holding the arrow. Connor's breath ruffles her hair as he speaks and he is so close to her his warmth is distracting.

"Use your first finger to help balance the arrow on the ridge like this. It will help you place the notch on the string without dropping the arrow." He holds the arrow between his index and middle fingers on the end just behind the feathers. Catherine drops her eyes to his right hand holding the arrow, noticing the calluses on the pads of the two fingers he uses to pull on the bow string. He rests the shaft of the arrow on the bow's ridge and Catherine follows the line of the arrow to where his hand covers hers. Extending the index finger of his left hand, he uses it to press the arrow against the bow. Catherine does the same and Connor lets go of her left hand and stands upright behind her. He slides the end of the arrow between Catherine's fingers, matching the notched end on the string and then steps over to her left side so that there is a gap between their bodies. He mimes pulling the bow.

"Squeeze the end of the arrow between your fingers so that you draw it back with the string. Lift your supporting finger away so you do not drag on the arrow. Look down the arrow at where you want to shoot and aim just above it and release the string." Catherine stiffens her left arm and pulls back with her right, the arrow shaft sliding between her finger and the worn section of the bow grip just above the ridge. She points the tip of the arrow at a nearby tree. When Catherine moves her finger from the arrow it immediately falls off the ridge, the momentum pulling it from her fingers and dropping it to the ground. She releases the draw.

"Oh! That isn't supposed to happen!" She cries, looking down at her feet where the arrow now lies.

"Do not worry. It happened to me all the time when I first started." He bends to retrieve the arrow and hands it to Catherine.

"You were probably a child when you first started."

"I was. I started seriously training with the bow when I was ten but I had been seeing the other hunters using them and played at it since I was even younger."

"So you have been doing this for how long?"

"A little more than twenty years now I suppose." Catherine is happy that their ages are not very far apart. His often stoic demeanor led her to believe he is older than he appears.

"Hmm. I have a long way to go then."

"Not so long as you would think. Set the arrow in place like I showed you." Catherine fumbles the arrow onto the bow and Connor puts his left hand over hers again. He turns her wrist slightly so the top of the bow tips to Catherine's right.

"This will help for loading the bow and until you are ready to shoot. Try shooting again. Do not worry too much about hitting anything. Just practice getting the arrow in the air for now." Catherine raises the bow and takes a deep breath as she steadies her arm. Bracing her left elbow, she grips the arrow and string tightly as she draws back, her right arm shaking with the effort. She unhooks her supporting finger and releases the string, sending the arrow flying in a small arc before skidding beneath the snow.

"Good! Hmm. I guess I did not count on having to find arrows under the snow." Catherine looks up at him, stricken with concern at losing one of his arrows.

"Oh, I'm sorry I lost it!" Connor turns from where the arrow disappeared under the snow to face her quickly when he hears her distress. He smiles and shakes his head.

"Do not be sorry. You are learning. I am the one who should worry about the details." He reaches behind his shoulder to his quiver and hands her a second arrow.

"Try again." This time she manages to get the arrow in place faster and it thunks into the nearby tree trunk she was aiming at.

"There! I had no idea shooting an arrow would be so much work." Catherine removes her jacket and Connor retrieves the arrow from the tree and returns it to her. Her next shot misses but the arrow sticks up from the ground and Connor fetches it. Again she draws the bow but her arm shakes almost immediately. She releases anyway, missing her target. At the same moment of release, the string strikes the inside of her forearm with an audible snap, causing her to cry out and nearly drop the bow.

"Well I can't say you didn't warn me that it hurts…" Catherine rubs her arm and pulls the sleeve up, revealing a red welt forming on her skin.

"Your muscles are not used to this kind of exercise. You do not have to keep going."

"No, I want to for a little longer if you don't mind."

"Why would I mind? I will not stop you." Connor brings her the arrow that again ended up in the ground. He enjoys the sight of her as she concentrates on trying to hit her target. The bow is almost as tall as she is and her stance when she pulls the string is very attractive to him. He can't help but admire the fit of her clothing when she is standing with her left leg in front of her right and the lines of stitching following the curves of her hips and legs so nicely. The smooth arc of the bow encircles the front of her, as if she wields a crescent moon in her hand. Her hair falls down her back and shifts in the wind, a few errant strands crossing in front of her neck. She is a beautiful warrior spirit, come to him in the flesh. Each time she draws the bow, she opens her mouth slightly and dips her head down to aim, her face determined and her eyes narrowing at her goal. With her cheeks flushed from the exercise, she is a pretty sight indeed.

Catherine manages to hit the tree once more out of several additional attempts and gain two more welts on her arm for the effort. After the third strike from the string against her arm she takes the bow in both of her hands, holding it sideways in front of her body by the curving arms and looking at it. Raising her eyes to Connor, she offers it back to him. He takes the bow from her by the grip and she picks her jacket up off of the stack of wood she had laid it on earlier.

"Show off for me. I am tired of seeing arrows missing the target and I don't think my arm can take any more of that string." She shrugs her jacket on but leaves the buttons undone.

"What do you want me to hit?"

"The tree I was shooting." Connor nocks an arrow, draws back on the bow and releases in one seamless motion. After struggling to perform those three movements herself, Catherine appreciates the grace of seeing it done well.

"That was too easy for you. How about the branch that crosses the gap between those two trees?" Catherine points to the branch, approximately thirty paces into the woods and a few feet above their heads. Connor takes an arrow from his quiver, draws the bow deeper, aims for slightly longer and hits the branch, releasing a shower of snow onto the ground. Catherine narrows her eyes and searches for another, more difficult target, turning in a slow circle where she stands next to Connor in the snow. Connor smiles at her determination and readies another arrow.

"There. The sapling growing from the crack of the cliff." Connor pivots his body towards where Catherine is pointing and the arrow takes the top of the slender sapling off, both the arrow and the portion of tree falling to the ground below. Catherine presses her lips together and squints into the distance, searching. Finally she turns to Connor and raises her hands from her sides.

"Impress me." He grins and looks around. Inspiration strikes him and he points with an arrow in his hand.

"The gorge. There is a fallen branch stuck to the opposite cliff wall. I will knock it down." Squinting and shading her eyes with one hand, Catherine can just make out the branch rocking in the breeze high on the cliff. Connor draws the bow deeper than ever, the wood creaking as it flexes. Taking a breath, he resets his feet and aims. In a sudden flurry of movement, he shoots and immediately grabs another arrow and shoots again, making only the smallest adjustment in his aim. His movements are so swift and practiced the second arrow seems to fall into place on its own. The first arrow knocks the branch free and the second lodges in the falling branch just before it passes out of sight below the edge of the gorge.

Catherine laughs, shaking her head and looking up at him in amused disbelief. Her hands are partly raised as if to cover her mouth but she keeps them just below her face. Connor revels in the beauty of her smile, seeing it reach her eyes for the first time. The effect transforms her attractive features into staggering radiance. She strides to the tree she had been aiming at and pulls Connor's arrow free. Returning to Connor, she taps the arrow point against his chest.

"I am officially impressed. Thank you." She smiles and shakes her head again, letting out another small, melodic laugh of disbelief. He looks down into her ocean eyes and smiles back.

"It was my pleasure."

"I'm sorry you lost those arrows."

"I can get the one in the branches back and the two that I shot into the gorge could be salvageable. It does not matter. I would shoot a hundred more into a bonfire to see your smile and hear you laugh again." Catherine's lips part slightly and her heart seems to stop beating. A blush warms her face, making her look down at the ground thoroughly embarrassed, the hand holding the arrow dropping to her side and her hair falling forward around her shoulders. She raises her left hand to the side of her face and touches her bruise and the lump just below the healing skin of her lip. How could he say such a thing? She loses one of his arrows, makes him lose more himself and all he can think about is her smile? The way he had looked at her before still has her convinced that her face must be marred badly. He did not deny that he found her injuries disturbing. Her blush burns hotter with the added fuel of shame. The smile of a used, disfigured woman. He pities her; that is all.

Connor imagines scooping her hair up in both his hands and feeling the soft curls slip between his fingers to fall against his arms. He wants to see her close her eyes at the sensation and tip her head back, exposing her neck to him so he can bring his face down, brush his lips against her skin and kiss her softly. If only he could show her how loving he could be to her and bring her pleasure where she had only known pain. He wants her to be happy more than anything. Her laugh had given him a glimpse of the woman she used to be, the woman she could be again if he could just help her. Despite the collapse of everything around her, Connor is astonished at Catherine's tenacity and the way she once again has clawed her way back from the brink of giving up. Their ugly confrontation and her subsequent breakdown only two days before still stab him with guilt. Connor reaches towards Catherine and lightly touches her blushing cheek with his fingertips just above her hand. She raises her head to look at him, distress covering her face like a mask. It takes everything he has ever known of self control not to pull her close and kiss her.

Connor's gentle touch on her face sends a jolt of tingling heat down her body that only adds to her confused self-loathing, threatening to drop her to her knees. She forces herself to lift her eyes to his. How naïve she is to expect anything more than pity from him. How presumptuous… When she sees the unguarded expression on his face it is almost as if she is looking into his mind, his heart, his very soul. Catherine is shocked by what she finds in his amber gaze. Desire emanates from him, stealing along his arm and flooding into her where his fingers barely touch her face. It is not purely a carnal, lustful thing, the vile creature she had seen in the malevolent eyes of her captors. If that had been all it was, she would have become desperately afraid. Instead, it is a maelstrom of profound eroticism tempered by tenderness and concern. His eyes have the look of when he smiles but his lips are soft and just barely separated. Catherine's hand starts to fall from her face under the weight of Connor's powerful emotions. He catches it and closes his fingers around it, the warmth of his touch sending tingles along her arm. His breathing is calm and deep and his eyes move from her face to her hand and back to her face. Connor slowly draws her hand up toward him. Lowering and turning his head, he presses his lips on the very bottom of her palm and then slides them down onto her wrist. There, he breathes out a slow breath of warmth and kisses her sensitive skin. Another wave of sensation tugging its way through her body brings a heat between her legs that nearly causes her to moan. Her breath hitches in her chest at the sight of her hand in his, a pale, timid bird held against the soft, warm confines of Connor's lips.

Connor couldn't help himself when she looked up to him. Her eyes were… troubled, engraved with naked sadness. For a brief moment, he thinks he has pushed too far but her wide eyes do not show fear. Connor strokes her palm with his thumb and kisses her a second time, holding her small wrist against his lips for just a few moments longer, his eyes closed. The smell of rosemary lingers on her smooth, delicate skin from her bathing the evening before. Catherine quietly inhales and he opens his eyes to look at her, her lips parting further and her breathing coming in small, silent gasps as she watches his mouth against her wrist. Connor's arousal intensifies and he has to fight his increasing urge to drop his bow to the snowy ground and pull her to his body.

The last thing he wants to do is scare her away by being too aggressive. He knows he has already taken a huge risk so instead of pulling her closer he lowers her hand down from his face and lightly holds her fingers with his. She lets out a breath and it turns to mist in the cold air. Her eyes lift from his hand holding hers to meet his gaze. They stand facing each other, close enough for him to take her in his arms even now, her eyes enormous and her lips soft and inviting.

"I should retrieve those arrows." His voice is husky and tight with restraint. Catherine nods to him and raises the arrow she still holds in her hand towards him. He takes it from her, the last two fingers of his hand brushing over her grip, and drops it into his quiver. Slowly he backs away, allowing her fingers to slide out of his grasp. Catherine lets her hand fall to her side, never relinquishing eye contact with Connor until he turns to walk into the woods toward the branch with the arrow in it. She watches as he slings his bow over his shoulder, jumps up to grab the limb of a tree, pulls himself onto it and swings around the trunk onto another branch. He traverses over to the bough and extracts the arrow with a firm tug, returning it into his quiver as well. From a crouched position, he lowers himself until he is dangling by his arms and then drops onto his feet into the snow below.

Catherine's feelings for Connor are in a tangle in her stomach and her heart is pounding in her chest. His kiss to her wrist left her feeling faint with a hungry need for more. She almost follows him when he walks toward the trail leading down the gorge but instead goes to the cliff wall and finds the broken sapling and the arrow that had reached its mark. She carries the projectile with her to the horse enclosure and pushes the point of it into a piece of wood on top of one of the wood piles. Staring at the arrow, she touches her left wrist with the fingers of her right hand, retracing the path Connor's lips had followed. The latent trail is so insistent she is almost surprised that there is not a visible mark on her skin.

Approaching the chestnut horse, she raises her hand toward him and he plods over for her attention. She backs toward a stack of wood and he follows her until he is close enough for her to climb up onto him. She rides him over to the trail and then down into the gorge, letting him wander along the riverbed and drink. Catherine twists to look upstream and spots Connor jumping across snow covered rocks to the other embankment. He reaches some bushes against the cliff face and starts to search among them for the branch. Catherine turns the horse downstream and follows the river around a bend. She considers what to do about Connor's actions. While she wants to feel more of the sensations that coursed through her body at his contact, she worries that if she encourages him, he will want more than she can give before long. She decides to wait and see if he continues to seek out physical intimacy or if this was a single, impulsive moment.

Up ahead, a speck of blue against the white snow catches her eye. When she gets closer, it turns out to be the branch Connor was searching for. It must have bounced into the river once it was out of sight. One arrow is broken, leaving only the arrow head and a short length of the splintered shaft in the wood. The other is undamaged despite the fall, its blue and white feathers catching the light. Catherine grasps a handful of the horse's mane and leans down to lift the branch by the one arrow up to her height. She pulls the broken arrow free first and then the whole one, tossing the branch back into the river's current. Both arrows fit inside the top of her boot securely. She lets the horse continue along the river, taking advantage of the calming sound of the flowing water to sort out her thoughts.

Connor's kiss had opened her eyes to two things: his kindness is more than simple concern for helping her and her own sensual desires are far, far stronger than she realized was possible. Connor obviously wants her to be aware of his attraction. It has to be why he kissed her wrist and not her mouth; maybe he had wanted to give her the opportunity to pull away. His eyes had been so telling of his feelings though, it had been as if he were speaking aloud. The kiss had only made it twice as clear.

Somehow, the thought of allowing Connor to continue to progress his attention with her is not so frightening once she starts comparing what her life with Francisco was like, as short as it had been. That life is over and she enjoys the sole companionship of Connor. Her husband had never caused her body to react the way it did to Connor's touch. Of course, at the time of their courtship, she had been too worried about Father's failing health to feel much of anything. Francisco had not touched her in any way that was sensual aside from a hand on the small of her back at public events or an occasional chaste kiss on her cheek when they would say goodnight. She and Anika had shared their fantasies growing up about what intimacy would be like that had excited her and made her sexually frustrated but when Francisco had not made any effort to make her feel that way she had written it of as fiction and the stuff of giggling teenage girls' imaginations. Knowing only the pain of her wedding night and of being raped had only made the concept of pleasure from a man seem even more of an impossibility. Now Connor's touch has awoken something in her that she had only dreamed of.

Two sides battle in her heart. On one, the idea of rejecting anything further, blocking this road forever and leaving to start a new life of anonymity in a city far from her past. On the other, accepting Connor's advances and being willing to face another, far different future with him. Both paths have a vast number of uncertainties and questions, risks and benefits; enough to make her head spin. How does one weigh the unknowable future when the only scale available is false and unfairly balanced?

Connor watches Catherine ride around the bend after fruitlessly searching for the branch. He was sure it would have gotten caught in the bushes but it must have hit a projection on the cliff wall that tossed it into the river. He still feels it was worth the loss just to see Catherine smile but worries about what she is thinking of him. Based solely on her body language he would like to believe that she enjoyed it more than she may have expected. Knowing what she has been through peels away the simplicity of body language alone. This woman is still fighting. Was she just too shocked at his brazen act to move? At the moment he can firmly say that he will not do such a reckless thing again but he fears that when he sees her next his resolve will weaken. There is no way to take his kiss back now that it is done, so he hopes that she will not think of him as overly bold and lustful, only seeking sexual satisfaction. He will not deny his interest in her if she asks him but he fears her rejection now that he has exposed himself in this way. Connor wonders if he has made a grievous mistake and softly swears in his language, seeing no value to getting truly upset, for if he has ruined everything it is of his own doing.

Connor crosses the river again and climbs back up to the upper level to check on the smoke shack. On his way, he strains to see Catherine but she is beyond his view. At the shack he checks on the venison and adjusts the fire to get it burning hot again and shuts the door. He leans against it on one arm, rubbing his forehead with his other hand. His heart is pounding as he berates himself silently over and over for losing so much control over his feelings for Catherine. He wanders over to where they were shooting together and paces around the area, rehashing every moment and picking it to pieces before heading back to the cabin to wait for Catherine to return.

Catherine returns to the enclosure to leave the chestnut and finds that Connor has discovered the arrow she had left behind earlier. A wide swath of snow has been pushed aside beyond the tree she had been using as her target. Maybe he found her lost arrow after all. Inside the cabin, he is sitting in front of the fire fletching new arrows. He lifts his head and watches her as she approaches his side. His eyes are no longer so open to his heart; instead, they seem worried. She kneels down beside him without taking off her jacket or boots.

"Look what I found." She moves her hand out from behind her back and holds out the arrow and the broken piece toward him.

"Where…?" He takes the broken piece from her hand and looks inquisitively at her. She places the whole arrow next to the others he has laid out on the hearth.

"I found the branch on the edge of the river. The feathers were catching the light like a beacon." Her eyes are shining and she has a small smile showing. She seems satisfied with herself for finding the arrows. Connor has to resist his urge to kiss her _again_. Fortunately she gets up at that moment to take her boots and jacket off. He considers apologizing for his actions earlier but then decides that it isn't worth bringing up and spoiling this moment with awkwardness. She seems to have moved past his earlier folly so he will do his best to do so as well.

Catherine sits down on the bear fur on the other side of Connor's supplies that he has laid out on a scrap of hide beside him. There are a few arrow heads, some straight wooden arrow shafts, a collection of bluejay feathers that have been split carefully in half lengthwise down the stiff middle spine and a loop of separated sinew fibers soaking in water. Catherine watches Connor as he returns to fletching his arrows. His large hands hold the split feathers delicately as he positions them against the arrow ends. He wraps one of the thin sinew fibers around the arrow and over the feathers, carefully separating portions of each feather with the tips of his fingers as he wraps to ensure even spacing of the sinew and correct line of each feather. Catherine bends her knees up and wraps her arms around her legs, resting her chin on her knees. Her eyes are drawn to Connor's profile and then to his lips. They are soft and full and had given her such unexpected feelings when he had kissed her wrist. How can she look at them the same again? How can she look at Connor the same? Everything he says and does will appear laced with an alternate meaning now.

Her eyes are tired and a building soreness in her right arm and shoulder are stiffening her up. After her second yawn, Connor looks over at her from smoothing the feather segments together with his fingers.

"I'm sorry, Connor. I don't mean to be distracting. I'm just so tired lately. I don't know what's wrong with me."

"Do you feel ill?"

"Not really. Sometimes I feel nauseated but it always passes. I must have a chill, that's all." A momentary sense of foreboding washes over her, making her rub her legs with her hands. It's probably just stress. Worries about Anika are constantly floating around in the back of her mind. Her thoughts always seem to circle around to her eventually, regardless of what she started off thinking about. She pictures Sonehso:wa riding toward her, slowly closing the vast distance between them.

Connor watches Catherine as she stares into the fireplace, her elbows on either side of her bent up knees and her hands stacked on top of them, her chin resting on her hands. Out of the corner of his eye he had seen her watching him for a long time while he worked. She appears preoccupied but he cannot really blame her for it. He did it to her, after all. When she closes her eyes, he turns his attention back to his arrows.

Catherine wonders what Anika will think of her shooting a bow. She will probably laugh at her and make her feel silly and then want to learn too. What if she had had a bow that fateful day outside the city? Her heart beats faster as she pictures herself holding the bow while on her horse the day she had been taken. A fantasy of bashing the bow against the neck of the man who had dragged her off the horse starts to form in her mind. It had been the man with the whip who had pulled her down and raped her first that day. The daydream grows wings and takes flight. Before she can stop it, she is picturing him on the ground at her feet, clutching his throat and gasping while she loads an arrow onto the bow. She would not have to be a good shot if he were only as far away as her feet… Could she have done it? Connor would have. Catherine thinks about the first time Connor was close to her, the blood splashed across his chest and arms and the bodies he had left in his wake. It was not the first time he had killed men.

Remembering the night Connor found her, Catherine relives waking up after being whipped into unconsciousness by her captor. The sounds of a scuffle had come to her first as the rushing noise filling her ears abated. Her eyes were open but she could only see blackness for a few moments before her vision cleared. The strange hatchet was within her view below her. When she raised her head, an unfamiliar man was in the room fighting with her tormentor. The sudden knowledge that this was another chance to escape had filled her so quickly that her whole body jerked where it hung. With her clarity came a surge of adrenaline powerful enough to drive away her pain. The tomahawk was so close to her fingers she could almost reach it. She strained and stretched but only managed to graze the surface of the handle with her fingernails. Shifting her feet over, she pressed the handle between them and slowly lifted the weapon by flexing her feet upward until she could hook her fingers through the blade. Once it was in her hand she became frenzied with panic that she would be caught trying to escape.

Cutting the rope above her right hand seemed risky after her first swing went wide and the hatchet had almost slipped from her grip. Her body spun from her wild swing with the hatchet and as she turned towards the wall the rope tied to the hook filled her vision. Surging toward it, her feet slipped in the pool of blood on the floor as she hacked at the hook in the wall. The swing missed and scratched the wall instead. Catherine had taken a deep breath then and attempted to calm her mind. She could still hear fighting behind her. The sound of the whip being used fueled her panic but also gave her further reason to succeed in escaping. She pulled against the rope around her wrist and steadied herself before making a second attempt at cutting the rope. It seemed like only every fourth or fifth swing hit the rope and every time she lifted the hatchet it grew heavier in her hand.

She had fallen to the floor in a heap when the rope finally snapped. Climbing to her feet, she stumbled away without looking back. Out in the other room, one of the other two men lay slumped with his body partially held up against the table. His face had a single dark vertical line down the middle of it. Blood covered the entire lower half of his face and was still dripping off the side of his body where it pooled on the floor. By that point, Catherine felt as if she were viewing the world through fogged glass. Nothing seemed real anymore and so she moved numbly past the man, stepping over him, not even noticing that her toes touched the pool of blood next to the body. Outside was another dead man, lying face down in an enormous lake of blood. So much blood… In a haze, she had lurched toward the forest. Pain had started to gnaw on the edges of her waning surge of energy. By the time she reached the leafy hill every other step was an agony. She fell to her knees and crawled when she could no longer walk. A large rock was in sight and all she had wanted was to hide. No matter who survived the fight she had run from she did not want to face the victor.

"WildCat! WildCat, what is wrong?" Connor's voice pierces her flashback. Catherine raises her head from her knees and takes in Connor's concerned face. His right hand hovers near her shoulder. A half fletched arrow sits on the hide on top of all his materials as if discarded in a hurry. It is then that she realizes he is sitting in front of her. She heaves a breath and he lowers his hand to her arm.

"You are trembling. Were you dreaming?"

"I was… remembering…" Connor closes his eyes and drops his head. What a fool he is. When he had kissed her, his motives had been genuinely to give her pleasure but can he really blame her for only being able to associate intimacy with pain and being forced? Had she experienced her sexual abuse all over again while he sat right next to her, the trigger for her pain?

"This is my fault. I should not have done what I did." Catherine interrupts him as he takes his hand from her arm.

"No! I wanted to learn to use weapons. I will not stop just because it dredges up my memories." Connor raises his head, shocked at her words. He had been expecting her to denounce him for kissing her.

"I will not make you stop if you do not wish it." His face relaxes and Catherine shakes her head.

"I don't want to be helpless anymore. I was wondering if I would be able to actually kill a person. I know you said that I wouldn't necessarily have to do anything so extreme but it made me think of that day… the day I was captured. I pictured killing the man with the whip. In my mind, I hesitated, but you would not have. And then I thought of the first time I saw you. You had blood all over your jacket and I knew you had killed those men."

"I have killed a lot of men over the years. It comes with fighting a war, with fighting for something that is more important than anything else. I am not proud of it. It just has to be that way when very few are fighting for the same thing."

"What are you fighting for, Connor?" He considers telling her about the Brotherhood, explaining that his motivations go far beyond any war in recent history and will continue longer than he imagines either of them will live.

"Freedom. True freedom, where none have to suffer under the hand of tyranny and oppression. To live the way you want to, without being forced into slavery or driven from your lands."

"Your village… is that why you have chosen this fight?"

"Part of it. But there is so much more than that. I am of two worlds and at the same time belong to neither of them. If I fight too hard for one I will destroy the other. I carry that burden alone even when I join the larger battle that did not end with the revolution against Britain's crown. We have many more wars to fight still before we reach our goal." Catherine raises her eyebrows.

"We?" Connor takes a deep breath and levels his gaze at her.

"My contacts from the war. I have many throughout New York, Boston and beyond. They are not just contacts. I… am their leader."

"Why are you not with them now, leading them?"

"We are not always in open conflict. There are often long periods where we wait, gather information, form plans and wait longer for the right moment to strike. Winter stalls everyone's plans, even our enemies'. I travel throughout the year between my village, here and my contacts. I am devoted to our cause but I will not turn my back completely on my people. The cost would be too great. But if I am needed, my contacts know how to find me." Catherine considers this new facet of the man who sits before her. So he is a leader of a group of people who fight for freedom even after the war for freedom in this land is over. Is he some kind of rebel militant? He speaks of continued warfare, but against who, or what? If she were to stay with him, what will happen when the snow is gone and he returns to his duties far from here? So many questions fill her mind, yet she has no answer for any of them. At least she understands more of why he trusts his contacts with his life. If they fight together for a unified cause and he is their leader, it makes so much more sense. She watches him as he feeds the fire. The cabin is growing darker in the gloaming of the evening. Something Connor had said days earlier jumps to the front of her mind.

"Your father. You said he was the leader of a faction that opposed you. That he died for what he believed. Did you fight against him?" Connor knows he can no longer hide the truth from her.

"Yes. His death is one that I am not proud of."

"You killed him? Your own father!"

"Yes." Catherine draws back from Connor in shock, shaking her head. Connor sighs and does not lower his gaze from her. He has dodged her scorn once for kissing her, it seems, only to bring it back upon him for divulging the truth of his past.

"You must try to understand my motives. His motives. We could never have reconciled. We both wanted to but it was contrary to everything either of us believed in. He would not change his ways; I would not change mine. I _could not_ change them without sacrificing everything I stood for. Do you think I have not wished it were different? I am not as callous as that but I understand when I have to let go of wishful thinking when it is not possible to make it a reality." Catherine is silent as she digests what Connor has told her. Her own husband and father in law tried to kill her for money. She does not deny that since her realization of the truth, she harbors murderous anger towards them, especially Sergio. If she were to be given the opportunity to snuff out his life, would she take it? It would not be without cause or justification. Mercy would only give him the chance to harm her again. Connor's expression is grave.

"If you had not killed him, would he have taken your life? If not then, later?"

"Without question." Catherine nods and sits forward again, bending her legs to the side and leaning on her right hand.

"If you were to tell me this two months ago, even two weeks ago, I would consider what you did unforgivable. It's still difficult to know but I accept it. There is one thing you can thank my husband and father in law for if you ever meet them."

"I would not thank them."

"Not for bringing me to harm, no, but their duplicity gave me a first hand understanding of greed and corruption. If that is how you view your father, then I recognize why you had to kill him." Connor stares at her, astounded at her unexpected empathy.

"You seem surprised." Catherine looks up at him, taking in his raised eyebrows and open mouth.

"I am."

"I have learned the hard way what happens when something feels wrong and nothing is said or done about it. I told you that I had hoped things would change between Francisco and me after we were married. I had worried about it for months but I never brought it up to my father. It would have broken his heart to think he would be leaving me unprotected. So I said nothing in order to give a dying man some peace. Look what I have reaped for my folly. At least you did not stand by and let him defeat you just so you would not have killed your father. Is it any better for a father to execute his own son?"

"I do not triumph with his loss, Catherine. Every day I see him in what I think, how I act and the things I do. Each time, it is a reminder that I destroyed that part of me with my own blade." Connor's face is creased with the strain of recounting what his decision had done to him. His jaw is set and his shoulders are hunched with strain. He bends his arm and rests his right elbow on his knee and leans down to rub his forehead with the heel of his hand. Catherine cannot imagine what it must have been like for him or how he has dealt with it since. If only the right decision were easy to make every time.

With fear curling around her stomach, Catherine tucks her feet under her body and sits forward slightly. Connor watches her movements from under his brow. Slowly, she reaches to the side of his face with her right hand and touches his angled cheek with one finger before opening her palm against his warm skin. She whispers to him.

"You cannot change your past and neither can I, no matter how much we wish to do so." He lifts his head off his hand and presses it into her touch. Closing his eyes, he turns his face into her arm and breathes deeply. Catherine is not surprised when he raises his left hand and covers hers on his face. They sit together, unmoving as gargoyles, until Connor slides his hand down Catherine's arm, sending shivers down it. She is unsure if it is from fear or enjoyment. He stops at her elbow and softly drags his hand back up to her wrist. When he starts to repeat the motion, Catherine allows him to draw her towards him. Uncrossing his feet, he makes room for her to sit between his knees. She settles onto her left hip, moving her hand to Connor's neck and resting her head on his chest. He pulls her closer with his right hand on her waist and his left sliding along her right arm until it rests just below her shoulder. He kisses the top of her head and Catherine closes her eyes, wondering what she has just gotten herself into now that she has decided to stay with him.


	8. Chapter 8

Sonehso:wa

The cloudy setting sun casts long, muted shadows through the trees as Sonehso:wa rides through the forest away from the cabin. The snow had tapered off only recently, leaving the world cloaked in freshness and silence, not even the horse's hooves making any sound other than the occasional squeak as he crosses over harder ground below. The clearing in the trees long behind him still fills his mind. It was the ruin of the cabin Ratonhnhake:ton had described to him when he had told him of the day he had fought Catherine's captors. A stale char had permeated the wind there, belying the serenity of the untouched expanse of snow within the unnatural opening in the forest. Only the blackened branches above gave evidence of the gruesome defilement hidden beneath the snow.

The sky above the trees slowly deepens into blackness, the clouds dissipating and revealing a clear late winter night split by a swath of fresh washed stars spanning the reaches of his view. Sonehso:wa lowers his head from the stripe of dense white millions and exhales a breath of mist that passes beside his face and blows away behind him. He had no idea he would end up on a trip of this magnitude before he had decided to visit his friend. The Clan Mother will be irritated with him for being gone so long without her blessing when he finally returns to the village. He grins and shakes his head, guiding his horse along the trail he follows. Will he ever grow out of being the direct target of that ancient woman's motherly scoldings? Most likely not. She will probably outlive him, too. Maybe it is a good thing Ratonhnhake:ton sent him on this trip; the Clan Mother has a special fondness for him that he knows he will never be the recipient of but maybe this time he will benefit from for once. If the man defends him, that is.

The moon is halfway across the night sky before he decides to camp. Restless excitement had given him the impetus to travel long past his usual stopping point. He had interacted with white men before but he had never seen any real settlement of theirs. The prospect of seeing a larger gathering of people had captivated his interest, not only to help Ratonhnhake:ton, but for the adventure. At the same time, a growing sense of unease from living in the cabin with his friend and his woman, even for the short time he had been there, had added to his urgency when he had suggested Ratonhnhake:ton send him instead. There is something unnerving about how little he can hear the sounds of the night when enclosed in such dense walls. How does anyone live like that? He looks around as he sits by his small camp fire. This is how it should be; the cold crispness of the wind against his face, the air filling his nose with the scents of the fire, a roasting hare and the subtle sweet tang of pine and ice and the sounds of the forest speaking to him as everything in it waits out the night.

The days are reasonably warm when the sun shines through the trees. Three days of riding, and Sonehso:wa has encountered no other people, though more trails running through the trees crisscross his path than before. Some even have evidence of use. A small, partially collapsed cabin had been the only structure he had seen and that was hours behind him. A break in the forest appears to his left ahead of him and the trail seems to curve toward it. When he reaches the edge of the forest, he stops his horse and surveys the view. A large swath of the forest is gone, a few old stumps dotting the very edges before an enormous expanse of emptiness is laid out before him. Broken stalks of harvested corn pierce the snow cover like oversized, disarticulated spider legs, running in hundreds of nearly straight rows across the rolling hills. A large house sits atop of one of the farther hills, smoke rising from its stone chimney. Sonehso:wa follows the trail, skirting the stacked stone-walled border of the field as he does, keeping an eye out for people. The farm passes out of sight quickly once he is past the fields and back in the woods again.

The trail widens on the fifth day after passing a few more scattered farms and homesteads and merges into a hard packed dirt road on the sixth, ruts on each side filled with churned up mud and icy puddles with a ridge of spattered and horse trodden snow running down the middle. Sonehso:wa follows the south-easterly direction of the road. He has to steer his horse into the snow beside the road as a man in a two wheeled cart pulled by a brown and white horse drives north. The man looks at him and nods as he passes but they do not exchange words. As far as he can see towards the east, fields flank the road, the boundaries marked by more low, stacked stone walls. In some of the fields cattle move lethargically while a few scattered horses paw at the snow to browse on the dead tips of buried grass. On the west side of the road the forest retreats in places, only a few fields cleared and even fewer homesteads. The area is desolate and almost empty of game. The farther into settled areas he travels, the more he has to rely on the smoked meat Ratonhnhake:ton had given him for food. He checks his bow frequently on his back in case a winter hare or another edible creature crosses his path.

Sonehso:wa knows he is nearing the outskirts of Albany when the fields become smaller and the homesteads are much closer together. A few people are scattered along the road riding horses, walking or driving carriages. After almost eight long days of travel he feels he has made good time without taxing the horse but he will be glad of a rest. The dappled grey has proven himself a sturdy mount but traveling for so far and for so many consecutive days is tiring for even the most conditioned horses. The single road comes to a large intersection, the path he wants to follow curving around a large hill. As he rounds the hill, the village of Albany comes into sight. A collection of buildings are jumbled together along what must be the river Ratonhnhake:ton says has the boat that will carry his letters.

People travel along the roads, some heading into the city while most are leaving. The streets are crowded despite the gathering dusk. He becomes the subject of scrutiny by the people surrounding him. He has experienced strange looks and sometimes outright hostility from white people before so he isn't surprised that his presence is of interest to the people of this place. Keeping his horse at a steady walk, he tries to maintain a neutral expression on his face. It is difficult when he knows he is being stared at. Small children point at him until mothers scold them for being rude. Some people cross to the other side of the road, eyeing his weapons. A few reach for weapons of their own: a knife, a pistol, a spade. Others are not so openly hostile. Many do not acknowledge his passing, even with eye contact. Rarer still are the ones who hail him in a friendly way, tipping their hats or calling out a greeting. Sonehso:wa responds to those with a nod of his head.

As he nears the disorderly collection of buildings pressed together in clumps of three or four with narrow alleyways between them, many sounds and smells fill the air and confuse his senses. An almost constant rushing babble of voices and slamming doors, dogs barking and horses' hooves clattering on the muddy streets are interwoven with the music of fiddles and singing drifting from the buildings and surrounding streets. Food cooking and the smell of refuse mingle in an unpleasant combination, making him grateful for the cold weather muting the latter. Livestock and unattended children wander the streets, adding to the general cacophony and sense of movement the place carries.

Sonehso:wa passes through the muddy streets slowly, scanning the buildings carefully for the right sign and finally locates the general store in the center of the town. He dismounts, tossing the reins over a fence post. Untying his bag from the back of the horse, he catches a few sideways glances from the citizens of the area. Shrugging his shoulders in amused apathy at their thinly veiled interest, he approaches the door. Inside, there are two people haggling with the man behind the counter so while he waits for the last customer to leave, Sonehso:wa looks around the store. There are barrels full of grains, sacks of various root vegetables, shelves with boxes of ammunition beside leather gloves, jars of honey and jugs of alcohol. Knives of different sizes and materials are displayed alongside woodsman's axes and other tools. A wagon wheel leans against the wall in one place. For such a small place there are more things stacked, piled or lining shelves than Sonehso:wa can identify in a single glance. Behind the counter a door stands partially open, revealing a back room with more barrels, crates and boxes filling the space with orderly chaos.

The last customer finishes purchasing his things and leaves and Sonehso:wa approaches the man behind the counter. He is a tall man with a large stomach protruding over his belt and a full beard covering his face. His eyes are brown and his hair is dark with some graying at the temples and the sides of his beard.

"Are you the man called Isaac Young?" The shopkeeper cheerily smiles and raises both his hands up from the counter.

"Indeed I am. How can I help you?"

"I come representing Connor." Sonehso:wa drags the triangular buckle out from under his beaded belt with his thumb. The shopkeeper takes one glance at it, looks around and then walks out from behind the counter to bar the door.

"It's best we don't get interrupted then. What does he need?"

"I have some messages that need to be sent to New York. He said you can arrange for that to happen."

"I can, yes. How many?"

"Two. And they are urgent."

"Aren't they always?" He chuckles. Sonehso:wa produces the letters from his bag and the man looks at the addresses before stepping back behind the counter.

"Connor wishes for you to use the money he keeps with you for this and to supply the rest of my journey." Isaac pulls a stack of papers from under his counter and runs his finger down the left side of the top sheet. He stops on one item and slides his finger across the page. Tapping the sheet with his finger, he looks up at Sonehso:wa.

"A ship is leaving tonight for New York. If you will excuse me, I have to leave now to get them on it. Wait for me at the tavern up the street and we will arrange for the rest of things when I get back." Sonehso:wa nods and the men exit the store. Isaac locks the door behind him.

"What's your name, son?"

"Sonehso:wa."

"Alright, Sonehso:wa, I will not be long. The tavern is just up the street a piece. You can't miss it." He turns and quickly starts walking toward the river with Connor's letters in his hand.

Sonehso:wa takes the reins of his horse and walks up the hill in the direction Isaac had pointed. The tavern is easy to locate due to the sounds of music and laughter coming from the brightly lit windows and often opening door. Sonehso:wa ties his horse with the others outside and walks to the door. When he opens it, the place is packed with people sitting at tables, most of them men, with a few women moving among the tables with plates of food and large mugs filled with a foaming drink in their hands. A counter runs along the wall to the left with bar stools lined up along it. Each one is occupied by a patron. A giant of a man stands on one side of the counter with his arms crossed and several weapons dangling from his body. He watches Sonehso:wa where he stands in the doorway.

Conversation and laughter come in waves of varying volumes depending how many men occupy the tables he passes. Three men sit in the corner playing instruments, their music adding to the din. Sonehso:wa sweeps his eyes over the room as he walks and moves to take an empty seat near the back as a harried looking serving girl who appears to be in her very early twenties approaches him. A lock of wavy brown hair has fallen free of her close fitting bonnet and is resting on her ample bosom that is far more exposed than the other women's he had seen outside. A man swats at the back of her skirts, shouting a bawdy invitation as she passes and she deftly blocks his hand with her arm. The other men at the table loudly voice their disappointment in support of their snubbed friend. Throwing an acidic glare over her shoulder, she reaches the table where Sonehso:wa watches the scene with a measure of horror at the open lewdness on display. He is not opposed to a little fun with a pretty girl but only when it can be done in private. Resting one hand on the table and the other on her hip, she lowers her face to look at him. Aside from her prominently displayed bosom, her blue eyes are her most striking feature. She isn't the prettiest girl Sonehso:wa has ever seen but she is by no means ugly.

"Do ya want anythin' darlin'? We got some fresh kegs of ale in this afternoon and it's flowin' freely tonight, I tell ya."

"Not right now. I am waiting for someone." The girl brushes her loose strand of hair back and starts to walk away.

"Suit yourself." She wades back through the establishment, avoiding a second attempt by the same man to make contact with her backside. Some time passes before Isaac enters the place. The volume and intoxication has increased steadily in the tavern and Isaac sidesteps as a man lurches past him to vomit on the ground outside accompanied by a raucous cheer from the patrons. He spots Sonehso:wa through the haze of pipe smoke and joins him at the table. The same serving woman crosses the room to see if Isaac is interested in ordering anything. The drunk who had harassed her earlier stands up and wraps his arms around her waist, dragging her onto his lap as he sits. She protests with a shriek and Sonehso:wa stands up, reaching for the knife on his chest. Isaac jumps to his feet, moving faster than most overweight, middle aged men are capable of and pushes him back down into the chair with a hand on his shoulder.

"Sit down, son." He turns to face the counter and shakes his head at the enormous man who has started walking toward them, hefting a sizeable cudgel in his grip. The man grimaces and returns to his post.

"You're quite like Connor, aren't you? Quick to defend… Christie knows her way around drunks. Leave it. Unless you want to start a brawl bigger than you can handle and spend the rest of the night in the lock-up with a cracked skull." Sonehso:wa nods and crosses his arms on the table. Isaac sits down as Christie disentangles herself from the clutches of the drunk after letting him kiss her neck and paw at the front of her dress for a moment. She is out of breath when she reaches the table.

"Mr. Young, been a while since ya been in here, darlin'." She tilts her head toward Sonehso:wa.

"This a new friend? Not much of a drinker, is he?" Isaac laughs and slaps his hand on the table.

"I don't know, Christie. I just met him." He faces Sonehso:wa.

"Why don't we get him a pint and see what happens?" Christie laughs.

"Sonehso:wa here was keen to defend your honor just half a minute ago but I saved him from getting his teeth knocked out of his pretty face by this lot." He gestures with his thumb toward the table she had just extricated herself from.

"In that case, the pint's on the house, honey." She flashes a smile at Sonehso:wa and then bursts into laughter. She rests her hands on the table and leans toward him, as if she is about to whisper a secret. Her barely contained cleavage threatens to spill out of her corset and Sonehso:wa eyes it with concern, partly hoping it will.

"Ol' Granger thinks he's the most desirable man in Albany. It only gets worse the more he drinks. He's harmless. Don't you worry 'bout me, darlin'! Tis a shame I don't get more customers as brave and handsome as you to protect me." She reaches a hand out and traces a finger over Sonehso:wa's braceleted wrist. Isaac clears his throat and interjects before she arrives at the back of Sonehso:wa's hand.

"That's enough, now, you'll start a riot for sure if you make these boys any more jealous." Christie stands up and sashays away, looking over her shoulder at Sonehso:wa with a deviant smile on her face. When she is out of earshot, Sonehso:wa faces Isaac.

"Is she a prostitute?" Isaac shakes his head and laughs uproariously, drawing more than a few eyes to their table.

"No, no. God, no! Haven't you been to a tavern before? You sure are a green one, aren't you?" His laughter settles down when Sonehso:wa's face remains skeptical and somewhat bewildered.

"Nevermind, son." Sonehso:wa is not quite sure what to make of this jovial man. Connor trusts him, and he obviously has done a lot of business with him. Christie returns with a tankard of that same foaming beverage in each hand. She lowers the mugs to the table in front of the men and then gestures at the pint in front of Sonehso:wa.

"Bottoms up! Let me see you drink!" Sonehso:wa picks up the tankard and smells it, eliciting a peal of laughter from Christie.

"It ain't poison, sweetheart!" She waves her hand impatiently until Sonehso:wa raises the mug to his mouth and takes a sip.

"Do you like it?" Sonehso:wa puts the mug back on the table and looks up at her smiling face.

"It is not what I was expecting." Christie laughs and reaches across to the ale and snatches it up before pushing her other hand against his chest, forcing him back against the chair. She smirks in satisfaction and plops sideways onto his lap, leaning backward and giggling until Sonehso:wa is forced to put his hand on her back to keep her from falling off the other side, tankard and all.

"Christie, you seem like a girl who likes to have fun but I am not here to…"

"Shhh. Drink." She raises the mug to his mouth and tilts it. Sonehso:wa quickly stops her with his hand before ale pours down the front of him. His eyes dart over to Isaac, only to find him red-faced with mirth, shaking his head and slapping his knee as he is nearly doubled over laughing. He raises his mug in salute to Sonehso:wa and takes a long drink.

"Come on, I brought it all the way over here just for ya!" Sonehso:wa complies as she tilts the mug against the resistance of his hand, doing his best to drink without tasting it or choking. He stops her again when some of it starts to run down the side of his chin. She moves the mug away and wipes his chin with her hand.

"That's better." Christie smirks again and looks over to Isaac as his laughter dies down.

"Alright, boy, I can see you want to get down to business. Christie, leave off, you've had your fun at his expense." Christie promptly obeys, setting the mug down on the table and getting up off of Sonehso:wa. She rounds the table and leans down to kiss Isaac's forehead and Sonehso:wa wipes his mouth and chin with the back of his hand, grimacing at the lingering bitter aftertaste in his mouth.

"Sorry, Uncle Isaac. Don't be mad at me." Isaac harrumphs and chucks her chin, sending her off to go about her work elsewhere.

"She is the daughter of your brother?" Sonehso:wa asks, aghast that he was dandling this man's niece on his lap and thinking about her breasts just a moment ago while she force fed him the nastiest drink he has ever tasted. He feels even worse when he remembers his earlier query.

"My sister's daughter, actually. This isn't the job I would have wanted her to have but she seems to have taken a shine to it. Besides, if anyone tries to go too far with her, Big Owen there will work him over good. Everyone knows that and generally respects the rules."

"Does she always make people drink like that?"

"Only when she thinks she can get away with it. I may have let it go a little far, but no harm done, right? I think she likes you." Sonehso:wa looks down at the half empty tankard of ale before him on the table and shrugs his shoulders.

"She is very… persuasive." Isaac chuckles and takes another long swallow of his ale.

"That she is, my boy! So. The letters are on their way as we speak; that's good news for you. What else do you need for your travels?"

"I am continuing on to New York. I will need money and supplies for the trip and for when I arrive."

"Yes, of course. We can take care of that in the morning when I reopen the store. Do you have a room for tonight?"

"Is there a place I can camp?"

"Camp! Don't be foolish, you can stay at my house. My wife cooks the best food in all of Albany. Listen. Any friend of Connor's is a friend of mine. Understand? Shall we be off then?" Isaac finishes his ale and Sonehso:wa stands, shouldering his bag. He follows Isaac as he weaves between tables towards the counter. Christie meets them there and leans back between the men, her elbows against the bar, smiling up at Sonehso:wa. Isaac digs in a pocket and gives her a few coins for the ale and she frowns.

"I said it was on the house!" She slides the coins back across the bar to her uncle and Sonehso:wa smiles at her pout. He is feeling somewhat light headed and euphoric, similar to when he and some of the other young men had shared rum from one of the recent trades with some white settlers. Wanting to get Christie back for what she put him through, he leans down and kisses her on her pouting mouth. Before she can react, he stands tall again and smiles widely at her.

"That was the most disgusting drink I have ever had. Thank you." Christie gasps and then laughs.

"Must have liked it more than ya' admit if yer kissin' me for it!" Isaac takes Sonehso:wa by the elbow and starts dragging him away from the bar toward the door.

"Alright, that's enough, or I'll set Big Owen on you. Did you forget that she's my neice?" Sonehso:wa allows himself to be pulled backwards while still grinning at Christie and she waggles her fingers at him. Once they are outside, Isaac releases Sonehso:wa's arm.

"You said she likes me."

"Christ our Savior! You're drunk. On half an ale. Even Connor can hold his liquor better than you and that ain't sayin' much! I should have known better." Isaac starts walking down the hill from the tavern and Sonehso:wa hastily unties the reins of his horse and follows him.

"Ratonhn… Connor drinks that… ale?" The cold air is bracing and his head feels clearer now that he isn't smothered in the close, smoky staleness of the tavern.

"No, he's more of a rum and whiskey man, just like a blasted sailor but only a quarter as tolerant." Isaac shakes his head and picks up his pace.

"My house is not far from here. Get a good meal in you and you will feel yourself again." Sonehso:wa walks with Isaac, leading his horse through the city.

They pass into a narrow side street and arrive at a small white wooden house. Isaac opens a gate on the side and Sonehso:wa takes the bridle and his bedroll off the horse, turning him loose in the enclosed space. The grey wanders over to a pile of hay and starts grazing on it. Isaac shuts the gate and walks to the front door of the house. He opens the door and calls out to his wife.

"Mrs. Young, we have a guest tonight! One of Connor's Indian friends." An ample woman with green eyes and light brown hair bustles out of the kitchen, drying her hands on her apron. A small child peeks out from behind the door frame and stares at Sonehso:wa.

"Well come in, then, come in. Don't make him stay out in the cold all night! Dinner is just ready now" She herds them indoors and shoos them into the dining room.

"This is my wife, Bethany. And the little mite in the kitchen is Ethan. Mrs. Young, this is Sonehso:wa."

"Pleased to meet you, dear."

Bethany bustles off to the kitchen. Isaac takes off his jacket and holds out his hand for Sonehso:wa's wrap. He takes the wrap, bridle, bedroll and bag from Sonehso:wa in a jumble and carries it all back into the hall. Bethany returns from the kitchen with a giant pan in her hands containing a roasted chicken surrounded by potatoes and onions. She thumps the pan onto the table and turns to the child clinging to her skirts.

"Ethan, get me the serving fork and a knife from the kitchen." The child scurries into the kitchen, casting a glance over his shoulder at Sonehso:wa again. She looks up at Sonehso:wa with an expectant expression on her face.

"Where are you from, now?"

"North and west of here." Sonehso:wa towers over Bethany where they stand but she has a stern, motherly air to her that he would not want to cross, despite her bubbly attitude. Isaac returns from hanging up the jackets and sits at the head of the table.

"Sit down, son, take a load off." Sonehso:wa pulls a chair out and obeys. Ratonhnhake:ton didn't tell him he would be treated like family by this man. Bethany takes the utensils from the child when he returns.

"Oh, thank you, Ethan, now go sit down, there's a good boy." The child is staring at Sonehso:wa from where he stands next to the chair. His eyes are large and wide with curiosity so Sonehso:wa leans down to him.

"Hello, Ethan. I am called Sonehso:wa." The child's mouth falls open and Isaac and Bethany watch him with amusement as he reaches over and touches a porcupine quill bead dangling from Sonehso:wa's elbow and then the feather hanging from the end of Sonehso:wa's braid. Ethan's right hand is covered in pink, wrinkled, scarred skin that extends up under his sleeve.

"Ethan is our grandson. Our daughter, Sarah and her husband died just a year ago in a terrible fire, so he's ours now. Poor little mite. He's a good boy though." Isaac directs his attention to his grandson.

"Ethan, go sit down and leave our guest alone." He looks back at Sonehso:wa as the child scurries to the other side of the table and climbs into his chair.

"It has been a while since we have had Connor here, so the boy has never seen an Indian up close before." Bethany brings her husband a mug of ale and turns to Sonehso:wa.

"Would you like some ale with dinner?"

"No! Thank you."

"Water then?"

"Yes, I would prefer water." Out of the corner of his eye, Sonehso:wa catches Isaac's mouth twitching as he tries to contain his mirth. Bethany brings Sonehso:wa a mug of water, serves everyone thick slices of chicken, piles of potatoes and onions and then sits down on the other end of the table. Isaac looks at his wife and grandson.

"I will say grace." Sonehso:wa watches with curiosity as they all rest their elbows on the table and interlace their fingers, bowing their heads the way he had seen a white missionary do when he had passed through his village once. Isaac quietly prays and they all move their hands in the same way over their chests at the end. Isaac looks at Sonehso:wa watching them and gives a sheepish smile before starting to eat. Sonehso:wa finds it amusing that Ethan watches him the entire time he eats, sometimes forgetting to chew. The child is silent and his eyes seem older than his face. The haunted look in them reminds him of Ratonhnhake:ton when he is preoccupied.

"We rarely have guests during the winter. This is such a treat. You are friends with Connor?" Bethany smiles at Sonehso:wa.

"Yes. I have known him for a few years."

"You did not grow up together?"

"No. I moved into his village while he was away."

"So what brings you to Albany?"

"I am delivering messages for Connor."

"It's a shame he didn't come with you. It's been so long since we have seen him. He's such a nice young man."

"He had other things to attend to."

"Well, aren't you sweet. Helping your friend. You tell him we say hello, alright?" Bethany keeps up a steady banter throughout the meal and Sonehso:wa finds himself making sure to scoop food into his mouth as soon as he finishes answering a question from Bethany. If he did not, he would never get to eat any of it for she peppers him with a barrage of questions the entire meal. He feels relieved when she gets up to clear the table and get Ethan ready for bed. She has to tow the child out of the room by his arm.

"My wife can be a little excitable when we have guests to dinner."

"She seemed happy to have me here. I feel very welcome."

"Always, my boy, always. Well, I have a long day tomorrow, as you probably do too. I am off to bed. Feel free to make yourself comfortable in the living room. I am sure Bethany will have stocked it with pillows and blankets for you." He shows Sonehso:wa the living room and just as Isaac had anticipated, there are folded blankets on the couch by the fire with a pillow on top and an ewer full of water sitting in a basin with a towel set beside it.

"Ah, you see? I will bid you a good night then." After Isaac leaves him, Sonehso:wa retrieves his bedroll from the entryway and lays it out by the fire. Above his head, he hears Isaac and his wife walking around on the second floor and adds another reason why he is uncomfortable in this style of dwelling. He pours some water into the basin and washes his face before trying to sleep. Eventually things quiet down for the night yet the silence is always broken by occasional sounds from animals or neighbors outdoors.

In the morning, Sonehso:wa opens his eyes to see Ethan staring at him from the doorway. He sits up and motions for the child to come closer. When he does, Sonehso:wa picks up his shirt and removes a bead from his clothing by breaking the sinew thread holding it on. He holds it out between his fingers toward the boy.

"This bead is made from a shell. My people use beads like this to decorate their clothes and hair and to make wampum for messages. Sometimes we use them to remember people by. You keep this one. To help you remember your parents." The boy takes the bead in his hands, studying it silently and then runs out of the room to show his grandmother. Sonehso:wa pulls his shirt on, rolls up his blanket inside his bedroll and refolds the extra blanket Bethany had provided him. Isaac meets him as he walks out of the living room.

"Well, let's go take care of what you need for the rest of your trip. Your letters are probably half way to New York now, so by the time you sleep tonight, they will have reached their destination."

"That is good news." Bethany walks into the hallway and gives Sonehso:wa his wrap.

"You stay safe now, young man. There are some who don't take kindly to your people on the road."

"Thank you Mrs. Young, I will. You are very generous." Ethan creeps close behind Bethany and looks up at Sonehso:wa, the white bead clutched in his scarred little fist. Sonehso:wa nods to the boy and turns to leave with Isaac.

Outside, Isaac waits as Sonehso:wa collects his horse and attaches his gear. Isaac glances over at Sonehso:wa.

"That was nice of you to give our boy the trinket. He must think you are quite an interesting person. He hasn't spoken since losing his parents, so it means a lot to us that you took an interest in him."

"He is fortunate to have you and your wife to look after him."

"We do what we can for him," They are silent the rest of the way to the store. Inside, Isaac restocks his supply of food and gives him money for any items he may need along the way.

"Well, that about does it. You watch your back in New York, son."

"I will."

"If you need a place to stay on your way back through Albany, just come knocking!"

"Thank you."

When Sonehso:wa is ready to leave, the sun is just breaking the horizon. Isaac opens his store to the public and starts organizing his many shelves as Sonehso:wa closes the door behind him. He gets on his horse and rides south on the wide road out of Albany that runs alongside the river. Small craft are visible moving across the surface of the water. It is the widest river Sonehso:wa has seen and the road runs almost parallel to it as far as it is visible. Once he is free of the city limits, he relaxes into the familiar rhythm of the grey's steady, ground covering pace. People dot the roadway and he is never the only traveler for long over the course of the day. He chooses to bypass an inn that night and instead sleeps outside in an empty field off the road, preferring the company of his horse and the stars over a crowded place.

Sonehso:wa enjoys only the briefest respite from people sharing the road with him on his way to New York. The road stays fairly wide despite passing through open farmland once again and appears to be a heavily trafficked thoroughfare between Albany and New York. Only during the night is he alone for more than a few hours. By the evening of the fourth day since leaving Albany, he is surrounded by travelers and he has passed through several small towns. To avoid drawing attention to himself he pays for a room at an inn, only to end up spreading his bedroll on the floor next to the bed after tossing and turning far into the night on the creaky, uncomfortable mattress.

Only a short time into the morning of the fifth day he enters the city of New York. Seagulls soar overhead, the smell of fish permeates the air and crowds of people like Sonehso:wa has never seen before fill the streets and move constantly into and out of the many buildings. Bombarded by noise and smells beyond what he had experienced in Albany, he tries to quell the anxiety that fills his chest and belly. He had no idea that so many people could live in such a small place. How could anyone find a single woman within this massive collection of humanity? It would be like searching for a certain leaf from among all the trees in the forest. The excitement he had had about starting off on an adventure almost two weeks ago had dwindled greatly once he had reached Albany. Now it is fully replaced by an urgent need to escape back to the quietude of the frontier where there are no people and more importantly, no constant, frenetic activity.

He heads farther east until he comes to the docks where huge ships are at anchor. A vast expanse of water spreads to the horizon and south far beyond his sight. He sits on his horse and takes it all in, hardly believing that so much water could exist without any borders. A great many things are so unfamiliar to him that he feels as if he has crossed into a dream world. New respect for Ratonhnhake:ton builds within him as he contemplates how often he had come here and how much time he probably spent in this place. Sonehso:wa knows he would never be comfortable or content to stay for long in this city. He hopes that Ratonhnhake:ton's contacts are as competent as he says they are so he can leave this place as soon as possible. He turns his horse to walk along the seafront and watches the many goings on. Everywhere people are hurrying, talking, bartering, arguing, loading and unloading the hulking ships and going about their business, the noise muddling together into a cacophonous buzz that makes Sonehso:wa's head ache.

A place of business that appears to be a general store sits among the string of buildings and Sonehso:wa ties his horse outside. Inside, the place is full of even more people who either stare at him or ignore him among a few who have very obvious disgust for his presence. He makes his way to the counter.

"Where can I find the bank?" A man nearby laughs.

"What would you have need for at a bank, Indian? Going to deposit some feathers and pine cones?" He erupts into derisive laughter again, a few other patrons joining in and tossing their own comments toward him. Sonehso:wa's shoulders tense and he fights to ignore the man, resting his hands on the countertop and deliberately keeping his fingers relaxed. He knew he would encounter biased people like this but it is not easy to endure. The man who ridiculed him first moves close to Sonehso:wa and partially bars his access to the store owner.

"You didn't answer my question, animal. What's the likes of you want with a white man's bank? You got coin in that bag or just a bunch of forest treasures?" The man reaches toward Sonehso:wa's bag and Sonehso:wa blocks his arm. He considers taking his knife out but remembers Isaac's admonition in the tavern about starting fights too big for him to handle. Though he is confident of his ability to best the aggressive man, the shop keeper's hand hidden below the counter gives him additional pause. One shot from a pistol in such close quarters would end the task set for him by Ratonhnhake:ton and his life in the blink of an eye. He lowers his hand back to the counter, his fingers twitching against the grain of the wood as he fights to control the urge to exchange blows with this irritating man. The room is silent as the other customers press back against the walls, waiting to see what will happen.

"My business is my own." Sonehso:wa keeps his face neutral and merely turns it toward the shop keeper behind the counter. Regarding him for a long time while whispers carry across the awkward silence toward Sonehso:wa, the man finally spits on the floor and leaves the building when Sonehso:wa refuses to react to him. The slamming of the door breaks the tension in the room and conversation picks up again. Fortunately the shop keeper seems to have no problem dealing with Sonehso:wa. He takes his hand out from under the counter, the heavy sound of metal on wood confirming Sonehso:wa's suspicions that he had been ready to shoot one or both of them if they had gotten too rowdy.

"That one's always looking for a fight. You have my gratitude for not giving him the satisfaction." Sonehso:wa nods.

"You can find the bank north of here but you have to take a ferry across to the other side of the river. Once on the other side, head east and you can't miss it. It's a yellow brick building. Three stories."

"Many thanks." Unsure of what the man meant by "three stories" but unwilling to risk drawing further mockery from the others present, Sonehso:wa exits the building and decides to lead his horse instead of ride to the destination. Suspecting that he has not seen the last of his antagonist, he keeps his eyes open for him. After a trip on the strange flat-topped ferry and a brief encounter with some persistent beggar children, Sonehso:wa finds the building. It is a towering brick construction, its distinctive yellow color making it easy to spot among the lower, wooden buildings scattered around it. Three rows of windows sit one on top of the other on the house and Sonehso:wa shakes his head with a small laugh of understanding. Since he has no actual business with the bank he decides to wait for the owner to exit, as Ratonhnhake:ton had told him that his contact was the bank owner's body guard. He sits on a nearby bench with a view of the bank and waits, unhooking the belt that Ratonhnhake:ton gave him and sliding the leather out from under his other belt. Once again turning the steel emblem in his hands, he lets his horse wander nearby, occasionally whistling to him if he ambles too far.

The afternoon wears on towards evening and an older bald man with a reddish mustache dressed in dark green exits the front door of the bank behind another man dressed in black with gold buttons running down either side of his chest. The man in black has white hair and a three cornered style of hat that seem to be popular around these parts. Sonehso:wa can almost feel the bald man's gaze as it lingers on him momentarily and then moves on. The two men pass by where he is sitting and Sonehso:wa deliberately meets the bald man's dark eyes and reveals the belt buckle sitting in his palm. The man continues on but Sonehso:wa knows he will return later. He puts Ratonhnhake:ton's belt back on, concealing it well, and resumes watching the people meandering along the roads. When evening starts shading the sky over the visible sliver of ocean with the deeper hues of dusky reds and purples, the bald man returns and sits beside Sonehso:wa on the bench.

"You must be the man Connor wrote of. I received his letter two days ago." Sonehso:wa nods. The man has a heavy accent that is unlike anything Sonehso:wa has heard yet.

"And you must be Jacob Zenger. I am Sonehso:wa."

"Well met."

"Have you found her?"

"We believe so. She appears to be unharmed but there is a complication. She is being watched." Sonehso:wa shifts on the bench, leaning forward and resting his arms on his knees.

"Watched?"

"Martinez seems to have an interest in keeping eyes on her. He has been under our own observation for a time. We think he is running slaves through Cuba, or at least financing the procurement of them. It seems rather odd that he has an interest in this young woman. She washes clothes for one of the upper middle class families on the North side of the city. I cannot see what he would gain from having this girl followed. Connor did not provide many details in case of the letters falling into the wrong hands."

"The woman married to the son of Martinez was abducted and taken far from here to be murdered. Anika was her maid. It seems that Martinez and his son conspired to have the woman, Catherine, taken and killed in order to obtain her inheritance. When men were sent to get proof of her death, they returned with the news that his contracted killers were dead, the place they took her to burned to the ground and no sign of her body."

"An inheritance, hmm? Can I assume that this woman you speak of is alive due to Connor's intervention?" Sonehso:wa nods.

"Yes. She was badly injured when he found her, but she is healing now. Once she learned of the treachery of her husband and father in law, her only concern was this woman, Anika. Catherine calls her a sister. Ratonhnhake:ton… Connor… promised to make sure that Anika is safe and cared for as a favor for Catherine. But now I am concerned about this information you have given me about Anika being followed." Jacob rubs his mustache with his thumb and index fingers while he thinks.

"If Martinez suspects that his daughter in law is alive, he probably assumes Anika would be the first person she would try to contact. It appears that they are not going drop the issue of her mysterious disappearance so easily. How important is this to Connor?"

"Important enough that he was willing to come here himself. I came instead so that he could keep Catherine safe if more men should come looking for her."

"Ever the honorable man. I wonder if he has a more vested interest than just 'keeping her safe,' hmm?" He looks over at Sonehso:wa and smiles, raising his eyebrows. Sonehso:wa looks at his clasped hands between his knees and is silent.

"I thought so. Well, come with me. My wife and I will get you set up at our place and we will see what is to be done about this situation." He stands and Sonehso:wa follows him to his house several streets in from the waterfront. Jacob brings him to a stable a few doors down from his house. At the doorway, Jacob whistles loudly and a stable boy of about thirteen comes scurrying from the shadows in the back. He has a mop of brown curls that nearly obscures his brown eyes and his face and hands are completely covered in freckles. Sonehso:wa removes his bag from the horse's back, hooks his bedroll under his arm and allows the boy to take his horse to a nearby stall.

"Tomorrow we will go to where we have seen this young lady. The man I work for, Alexander Hamilton, will not be needing my services. If you think that we should approach this girl, then I recommend having my wife do it to avoid arousing suspicion. You would certainly be taken note of and I have no business speaking to a pretty young lady."

"That sounds like a good plan. What of the men watching Anika? I do not think Catherine would be happy if I left her friend in that kind of situation."

"We can work on a plan to get her out of the city if you think it is necessary."

"If Sergio or Francisco is using her as bait for Catherine, then what will become of her if they suspect that she has any knowledge of our involvement or Catherine being alive? Since they seem to have no interest in preserving life, hers could be in danger as well."

"You make a valid point. Maybe you could take her back to Catherine wherever Connor is keeping her."

"We would need to get her away from her followers."

"Let me think on that part. For now, let's work on making sure we have the right woman." Jacob opens the door to his house and Sonehso:wa steels himself for another claustrophobic evening and night. He can't decide which is worse; the crowds and noises outside or the trapped feeling he gets inside.


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9 - Equilibrium

**Author's note- This chapter has been posted with some content removed to comply with site policy on explicit content. See my profile for the location of the unedited version.**

Catherine had reached out to him. Is he dreaming or is this real? This woman sitting between his knees with her head resting against the crook of his left shoulder had just drifted off in his embrace. When she had first climbed over to him and he had wrapped her in his arms, her heart had been fluttering so wildly he could feel it through her body. As they sat together silently, her racing heart had slowed as he stroked her arm until he could no longer feel it pounding and her body had unwound, conforming to the bend of his waist. Her right arm had relaxed enough that when he ran his hand down it, it slid from his neck and settled across her lap over his hand on her stomach, her body shifting until her left shoulder had tucked neatly under his armpit. Fingers crooked slightly, her left hand now lies on the floor beside Connor's hip. Connor's left elbow is resting on his bent knee and his forearm hangs low enough that his knuckles brush the top of her leg. Now, with her breathing slow and deep, Connor is afraid to move in case he breaks this reverie.

Looking down at her, he takes in the sight of her neck, the way it curves gracefully from her right shoulder to her jawline, a curly tendril of hair that had strayed from the nape of her neck lying against her skin and swaying with every one of his exhalations. The lacing that runs up the center of her fabric shirt is undone at her neck, the top corners slightly folded down and hanging over the edge of her hide shirt, revealing just enough of her collar bones for Connor to want to touch them. If his right hand were not covered by her arm, he would be tempted to reach up and run his fingers down the perfect arc of her neck, pausing on the flicker of her pulse before trailing his fingertips along the elegant dip of her collarbone.

Connor wonders what it is about this woman that has captured him. He had never wanted to take even a single step back from his duties as an Assassin before. Not that he wants to give it up; he would never do that for anything. Rather, could he take on the role of Mentor more completely, letting his recruits manage smaller skirmishes with more independence while he directs matters from a distance? After Achilles passed, Connor was left as the highest ranking Assassin in the colonies, effectively making him Mentor at a very young age. His men had proven their mettle time and again and his ranks of Assassins have grown larger and stronger every day, spreading across the land in an intricate web of influence. As the network has grown, his ability to split his attentions between direct involvement in every major conflict and keeping track of his more distant connections has suffered. Maybe it is time to anchor in Davenport once again, only now it would be to take on the challenge Achilles had begun, to shoulder the burden of establishing an unbreakable stronghold of Assassin activity in the heart of the colonies.

Connor sighs as his eyes trail over Catherine's features. Maybe it is because she is so vulnerable. A part of him wants to protect her and prevent any further harm to her. But a different part of him knows that as she heals from her experiences he will have to step back from that role in order for her to strengthen herself. She will be forced to make difficult decisions in the future; Connor is convinced that she has not escaped the reaches of her husband and father in law and he is certain their paths will cross one way or another. It will be either Catherine's undoing or her triumph.

Maybe his attraction is also due to her never making any demands of him. She has never asked him for anything. He has been the one extending to her all the time. In the beginning it had been because of his sense of responsibility to render aid to an injured woman but in just this short time it had progressed into something so much more. Every step he has been able to make with her has felt like a victory and motivates him to give more of himself the next time. Connor thinks back to Dobby and her almost insatiable drive to get what she wanted. She made no effort to hide it and had grown used to getting her way, knowing no bounds to the measures she would take to attain what she wanted. Dobby is the most demanding woman he knows. Her attitude enhances her fighting abilities but had decimated his desire to be with her. For that reason, he had reinforced in his mind that being an Assassin and a husband were not mutually beneficial.

Catherine is so very different. She seems to have an idea of what she wants her life to be but after having been brought so low she is unsure of how to rebuild it in a way that will make her happy. Her surprising empathy for his dark past is magnetizing and it makes him want to help her realize her potential more than ever. He is concerned about what will happen once she knows about the Brotherhood. What if she wants to join the ranks? If she gets a taste for redemption will she become unstoppably determined in her quest for revenge? He already knows how intoxicating the need for revenge can be and would hate to see her follow the same path he had and end up just as empty-handed. While he does not want her to be a vapid, simpering woman without a care in the world, neither does he want her to become as overtly headstrong as Dobby is, looking for a fight wherever she can find one and turning the results to her advantage. Strong women interest Connor, but not _that_ strong. It is a knife's edge of difference and based on the brief bursts of fire Catherine has displayed, she has the potential to veer in the Dobby direction if encouraged to. Could she ever be a woman who has a strong will yet still needs to, no, _wants to_ be cared for? A woman who can stand by his side without fear, yet knows when to step back and let others take the reins. Confidence and modesty perfectly balanced. Is he wishing for the impossible?

Catherine stirs against his shoulder and Connor lowers his face down until his lips are touching Catherine's hair just above her ear. He closes his eyes and breathes deeply of her warm, velvety scent before softly kissing her head. Opening her eyes, she raises her head and pushes her left hand against his thigh to sit up. Connor moves his head so that when she sits up his jaw is against the side of her forehead. When her shoulder is out from under his armpit, he moves his elbow off his knee and takes her left hand in his, slowly bringing it over her stomach so he has both his arms fully around her waist.

The heavy burden of sleepy exhaustion still weighs on Catherine's eyes and fogs her mind. The fire has burned down to only glowing embers yet her body is comfortably warm. Connor's arms around her raise a surge of alarm in her chest but he is neither restraining her nor touching her inappropriately. He strokes the back of her left hand softly with his thumb and his right hand is relaxed against the side of her stomach, the weight of his arms the only pressure on her. Her heart is squeezed mercilessly in her chest as her mind still fights her purely emotional decision to stay with Connor. It unearths all her distrust and illuminates the most degrading details of her abuse. She takes a deep breath to repress the upheaval and Connor lifts the weight of his arms off of her, stilling his thumb on her hand. If she were to move away he would immediately release her. The realization makes her want to stay where she is and fills her with a sense of relief that is almost overwhelming. On her exhalation, she shakes her head, moving her right hand over to touch her fingers to the backs of Connor's knuckles and he relaxes his arms against her body once more with a sigh of his own. The wave of crushing anxiety passes, leaving Catherine even more determined to forge ahead on the road she has chosen.

Catherine rests her head back against Connor's chest and he lowers his face until their cheeks are touching. There is something extraordinary in the silence of their companionship; a tacit understanding that passes between them and blots out the need for superfluous talk. Her subtle actions carry a flood of meaning to Connor and his heart soars with hope that she will succeed in fully unfettering herself from the chains of her past. Content with what she has given him and making a wholehearted attempt to empathize with what it must have cost her, Connor refrains from touching his lips to her face. He has already pushed what he believes to be the outer limits of her tolerance for physical intimacy and he refuses to have it all turn to vapor because he is greedy. She has richly rewarded his risky conduct in the morning with this unprecedented act of acceptance that still fills him with dream-like disbelief.

Catherine's shoulder is stiff and sitting still for so long is starting to get uncomfortable. She leans forward slightly and Connor lifts his arms, letting her sit up. As she moves away, his hands lightly slide off her waist, and the sensation sends similar bursts of warmth through her body as when Connor's lips brushed over her wrist, though not as intense. When she gets to her feet she turns her head to look back at him. His eyes are once again bottomless with desire and more compelling than she is prepared for. He gives her a half smile and starts to get up as well. Catherine crosses her left arm over her chest and rubs her shoulder with her hand. Connor takes a step closer to her and gestures to her shoulder.

"You will be sore for two or three days. The worst will probably be over by tomorrow night or the next morning if you keep practicing. You did well today."

"I want to keep practicing. I don't think I'll ever be as good as you but I will try."

"I hope you will still feel that way tomorrow."

"Of course I will!" Connor gives her a knowing smile and shrugs his shoulders.

"I will ask you again in the morning, then."

A rolling wave of nausea makes Catherine sit up quickly in bed with her right hand over her mouth, the morning sun only just coloring the violet sky through the windows. At the same moment, a shockwave of pain streaks down the right side of her neck, through her shoulder and the length of her entire arm. Ignoring the pain as best as she can, she rips the blankets off of her, runs to the door past the dark form of Connor and lets herself outside. At the railing of the porch, she clutches the wooden beams and leans out over the cliff, swallowing the sour saliva in her mouth repeatedly in an attempt to keep from vomiting. Sweat breaks out on her face and neck, cooling rapidly on her skin in the chilly morning air and she takes in ragged breaths as she shivers. She dry heaves once before managing to control her stomach. The nausea fades slowly into a dull, unsettled ache and Catherine lets her knees buckle until she is squatting, her arms stretched above her bowed head. With the pressing need to vomit gone, the pain in her neck and arm comes to the forefront of her perception and she lets her right arm drop to the deck beside her feet. Any movement renews the searing pain in her muscles and she does her best to remain still as she continues to breathe deeply. Another surge of nausea, weaker than the first, forces her to drop her knees onto the porch floor and lean over the lower railing. When it, too, passes, Catherine turns and sits with her back against one of the vertical support beams for the roof of the porch and leans her head against it with her eyes closed. She catches her breath with deep, open mouthed respirations. A powerful shiver runs through her body and she opens her eyes, only to see Connor standing in the doorway watching her with concern. He is barefoot and shirtless, his left hand positioned partly behind his body and his right holding the handle of the door. His face is creased with worry and his lips are parted slightly.

"What happened?" His voice is urgent.

"Nothing. I just felt sick for a second. I'm alright now." Catherine slowly rises to her feet, wincing at the pain in her muscles, and Connor presses his back against the frame of the door so she can pass inside. Inside, Connor's belt is lying on the floor. She picks it up with her less painful left hand and turns around to face Connor. He grasps the empty sheath hanging from it and raises it up, bringing his left arm out from behind him and depositing his hunting knife in it. Catherine's eyebrows climb her forehead in surprise.

"What did you think was happening?" Connor shakes his head.

"I did not know. You ran outside so fast it could have been anything. I wanted to be prepared."

"Oh." Connor takes the belt from her and hangs it up on its peg by the door. Still feeling a little shaky, Catherine goes back to the bed and sits down, her arms crossed over her stomach. Connor approaches and stands by the bedside looking down at her.

"Are you sure you are not ill?"

"Yes, I'll feel better in a few minutes. I'm just a little dizzy still." Connor stands over her, his eyebrows close together on his brow. He reaches out and grazes her cheek with his fingers for a moment.

"You are pale."

"I'm alright, Connor, really." Connor continues standing before her and Catherine's eyes are drawn down from his face to the enormous scar on his abdomen that is just below her eye level. This is the closest she has been to him for any extended amount of time when he has not had his shirt on. Before she realizes what she is doing, she lifts her hand and touches the raised scar with her fingers. The raised skin is a knotted lump under her fingers and lacks the smooth, even texture of the rest of his skin.

"What happened to you?" She whispers, her fingers tracing the circle of the scar and line of stitch marks on his side. The tiny scars from his stitches are evenly spaced and feel like a double row of small, flat embroidery rosettes flanking the straighter incision-like scar that curves around his side.

Connor becomes very still as Catherine touches him. The sensation is dulled by the scar tissue but he can still detect the warmth of her fingers and feather light pressure as she moves her hand along it. He looks down at her hand touching his skin and then over to her face. A small crease is between her eyebrows and her lips are just barely separated as she stares at the mark on his body.

"It happened in Boston. A ship construction scaffolding collapsed while I was on it and a piece of a wooden strut was driven into my abdomen. I do not know if I fell on to it or if the debris that landed on top of me pierced me." Catherine looks up at him, concern filling her eyes.

"What were you doing on the scaffolding?"

"I was pursuing my father's second in command." Catherine inhales sharply at his admission. So his decades long search for a bitter enemy ended with a ghastly injury that probably came close to taking his life. She looks back down at his scar and traces the lines of it once more before lowering her hand to her lap.

"Does it hurt you?" Connor shakes his head.

"Not usually." Connor's heart is pounding in his chest and he desperately wants to feel Catherine's hands on his skin. He changes the subject to move away from such dangerous waters.

"How is your shoulder feeling?" Catherine smiles at what she knows is a loaded question.

"I think you know how it feels…"

"Do you still want to practice today?" He questions her with a ghost of a smile on his face. Catherine gives him a long, cynical look and then purses her lips. She considers giving in to her discomfort and letting him have the satisfaction of being right. Then again, maybe he wants her to push herself and he is intentionally goading her into it by flaunting his smug amusement in such an obvious way.

"I will not be defeated by a few sore muscles." Connor's face finally breaks fully into a smile.

"More target practice with the bow, then?" His smile widens at Catherine's perturbed expression as she contemplates the dismal prospect of using her right arm to haul on that cursed string all morning. She opens and closes her mouth and then defiantly looks him in the eyes.

"Of course. Whatever you think is best." Connor's smile fades only slightly as he realizes she isn't going to fall into his trap. He wanted to see her pout just a little so he could reveal that he had something else in mind than target practice again. Maybe she would have given him another devastatingly spectacular smile. Catherine is not the pouting type at all, it seems. He supposes it is better that way. Sonehso:wa prefers the pouty ones who play coy yet know exactly what they are doing with him. Catherine seems to either be willing to play along with his silly game or is simply refusing to appear weak. He should probably determine which one it is before he gets into trouble or she hurts herself pushing beyond her limits. A brief prickle of shame makes him question his decision to trick her. Hasn't she been deceived enough? He squashes his worry with the knowledge that she will not be angry with him in the end.

"I will be outside setting up some things for practice then. Come out when you are ready." A smile lingers on his mouth as he walks away. Catherine balls her hands into fists and follows him with her eyes as he crosses the room, puts on his shirt and dresses for the outdoors. When he leaves the cabin, she falls backwards on the bed and stares at the peaked log ceiling with a sigh. What is she doing? Why didn't she just say that her arm hurts too much for practice today? What is she trying to prove to him? And what the hell is _he_ doing? Why is he being so odd? That smile he had! It was like he was laughing inside.

Catherine lies for a while on the bed, her toes dangling above the floor, and works at building up her motivation to train on the bow. She accepted his offer to train so now she needs to hold up her end. She is an idiot, well and true if she thinks it would be easy to just pick up a weapon she had never touched before and master it in one session. A hammering sound comes from outside and she wonders what Connor is up to. Maybe he is putting actual targets up for her. She squirms against the mattress, the few remaining scabs on her back itching relentlessly as they heal. When she has scratched to satisfaction, she rises to her feet and eats some leftovers from dinner the night before. Her stomach settles the rest of the way down with some food in it. Despite feeling much better, Catherine still drags her feet as she puts on her boots and jacket. She favors her arm as much as possible.

At the door, Connor's bow and all his weapons are in their places. He did not even put on his belt. Two guns hang on their pegs on the wall and a long musket is above the door. Not a single weapon of his is out of its place. So strange! Through the window, Catherine catches sight of Connor stacking pieces of wood in his arms before he carries them out of sight. Sighing in resignation, Catherine picks up Connor's unstrung bow and quiver and opens the door. At the edge of the porch, Catherine stops and watches as Connor uses the flat back side of his wood chopping axe to pound long stakes deeply into the ground, two sets of two opposite each other forming a one foot square. Inside the stakes, Connor lays logs in threes, each layer lying perpendicular to the last and leaving the center log out on the top layer. There are several sets of these spread around the open area with long, thick branches spanning several of them. Connor picks up the end of another branch and lowers it into the gap between the two logs in the stakes. Moving to the next reinforced stack, he lifts the other end into the gap, forming a bridge between the stacks with the branch. He then takes a length of rope and wraps it around the stakes and over the end of the branch in an "X" shape to secure both the stack and the branch tightly together, tying a complicated knot on the side. He moves on to the next stack and repeats his rope tying process.

The chestnut horse is wandering around the area, no longer penned in by the wood stacks. Catherine whistles softly and both the chestnut and Connor look over at her on the porch. Connor waves her over so she leans the bow and quiver against the cabin and walks over to inspect the curious bridges he is constructing. The sun is bright in the sky and the air is warmer than it has been, making the snow begin to settle wetly, no longer light and powdery. When she gets close, Connor lifts his head again from his work.

"What do you think?"

"I think these are the strangest looking targets I have ever seen." Connor grins widely and shakes his head.

"These are not targets, WildCat. I will not make you do archery today. I am not that cruel. Today you will practice your balance." Connor finishes tying the last stack together. He steps onto the branch and crosses along its length to the adjoining stack, stopping in the middle to bounce his weight on it and test its strength. Catherine is smiling by the time he steps down from the logs.

"I admit that I was not looking forward to using that bow. I think I can manage this."

"I will make it a challenge for you." Catherine smiles inwardly. She is confident that she will be better at this than shooting the bow. Connor offers her his hand to step up on the stack of wood but she ignores it and jumps up with alacrity, using her arms to balance lightly on the stack. Hesitating for only a moment, she steps out on the branch and slowly walks across it, picking up her speed as she finds her balance. The branch is easy to feel through her soft boots, making it effortless to place her steps. At the end, she jumps down into the snow. Turning around, she faces Connor, crosses one foot behind the other and mimics a curtsey to him, her hands holding an invisible skirt out to the sides.

"Impressive, WildCat." Connor stands with his arms crossed over his chest and nods. Her cheeks have regained their pinkness and then some from her activity. He looks toward the branch and continues.

"Now run across it." Catherine looks at him sharply and lowers her eyes to the branch. She backs up a few steps, bends forward slightly and takes a deep breath, concentrating. She runs the few steps through the snow to the stack, leaps up and starts across the branch. Only steps onto it, her balance falters and she jumps off into the snow beside it. Connor opens his mouth to speak but Catherine interrupts him by raising her hand out towards him before any sound can some out.

"Wait! I can do this, I know I can!" She jogs to the end Connor is standing at and stops a few paces beyond him. Turning, she takes a breath and lets it out slowly, calming her mind. This time she makes it all the way across and she jumps off the end with a shout of victory. She is triumphant when she turns back to face him and she runs back across just to compound her success. At the end she hops down and prances over to Connor, breathing hard and immensely proud of herself. He smiles down at her and enjoys seeing her so confident.

"I thought you said you were going to challenge me," she teases with a saucy tone to her voice. Connor narrows his eyes in mock skepticism.

"Very well." Connor walks over to the next bridge he had constructed, one end of the supported branch only a couple feet from the end of the first but extending away at an angle. Connor walks all the way to the end, jumps up onto the branch and tests his weight on it. When he is satisfied with its stability, he jumps down and walks a few steps away. Turning, he runs up to the stack, leaps onto the branch and runs across it, jumping the gap between the bridges and adjusting his course to cross the second one before bounding off the end and stopping. He steps to Catherine's side and looks down at her silently. Catherine squares her shoulders and walks to the starting point though inside, her confidence is wavering.

Catherine makes the jump across to the second bridge but fails to change her trajectory soon enough and she ends up in the snow with a shout, tumbling on her side as she falls. Connor runs over to her with concern but she rolls on her back and sits up, gathering her hair up and dragging it behind her shoulders.

"I almost had it!" Catherine takes his offered hand and he pulls her to her feet. He is careful not to step closer to her as he does, knowing he would be unable to resist bringing his arm around her and kissing her flushed face.

"It is not as easy as it seems. Practice this one for a while and I will set up your next challenge." Catherine unbuttons her coat as he is speaking and Connor's breath catches for a moment as his mind runs wild with his imaginings. He takes a step backward and watches as Catherine takes off her coat and hooks it over a broken branch on a nearby tree.

"I will get this right, I'm sure of it."

"Then I will work quickly." He moves away, picking up the axe from where he leaned it against a tree and Catherine watches him with curiosity. His eyes… She would swear under oath that he would rather not be walking away from her right now but his voice and body language do not betray him the way his eyes do. If not for what she saw in them yesterday coupled with his actions, she would be unaware of how much they are divulging. His self control is remarkable.

As Catherine steps up onto one of the bridges and slowly walks across it, she contemplates her changing relationship with Connor. Though Connor's desire for her is flattering and heartwarming, she still becomes a confused mess of indecision at the thought of him being much more intimate with her. Part of her deeply craves his companionship and care, the kindness he gives to her and his low voice when he speaks; even his warm embraces and gentle caresses have wriggled past her original defenses and become inextricably linked with who he is and what he has become to her. While she finds her body awakening to his touch, responding to it without conscious thought on her part, the edges of her nerves remain shadowed in fear, waiting for the pain, for his tenderness to be revealed as only a mask over some vile, lurking evil. His overtures seem innocuous on the surface but every one of them is leading her incrementally further down the path she has chosen to follow. She knows what inevitably lies at the end if she allows Connor to take her there and she hopes that by the time they reach it she will be ready to set aside her doubts and defeat her past.

"Are you going to make that jump or just pace, WildCat?" Connor calls to her from where he is tying rope to a stack in a row of several parallel bridges with expanding gaps between them. Catherine looks up from her feet and walks the length of the branch. At the end she hops the gap and walks the second bridge. With a steely countenance, she spins about and curls her toes over the crossed rope under her foot. Diverting all her energy to her goal, she dashes from her crouched position and crosses the bridge, clearing the gap and landing on the second bridge. Her momentum all but carries her off the edge but she twists her body and uses the strength in her legs from years of riding to forcibly change course. The very next step she takes is firmly in the right direction and she reaches the end of the bridge successfully. Between the sprint and the battle in her head, she is breathing hard and her heart races.

"Again!" Connor shouts from where he is working.

Catherine makes several more sprints across the two bridges, only falling off once when her foot slips. She finally stops when a cramp in her side doubles her over. When it subsides, she stands back up and walks over to where Connor is. He rises to his feet after pulling the last knot tight. Stepping onto the first bridge, he jumps from one to the next as if they are stepping stones, checking the stability and at the same time, showing Catherine a slow version of what he wants her to do.

"Are you ready to try this?" Catherine silently nods and Connor continues.

"Stay on this side for now until you get comfortable. It is harder to balance in the middle where the branch bends more." When Catherine jumps from the first to the second branch, she wavers on the landing. Her arms windmill as she tries not to fall off but she does anyway, jumping backwards into the snow. When her feet hit the ground, she stumbles back and crashes into the first bridge, which hits the backs of her knees, buckling them. With her arms still flailing, she topples backward with a cry. Her fall is cut short when Connor catches her left arm just above her elbow with his right hand. Despite his support, the lower half of her body still falls on the other side of the bridge, causing her feet to kick upwards in an embarrassing fashion. Catherine has a fistful of Connor's sleeve and she retains her grip on it as he pulls her back up to her feet.

Connor had moved between the bridges to pull Catherine up and this time he has no room to step back without tripping over a bridge as well. By the time Catherine is upright, there is no space between them and she has her right hand pressed flat against his chest. Against his better judgment, he brings his other arm around her and places his hand on the small of her back. Her body goes rigid and she glances up at him for the briefest second before casting her eyes down and turning her head away. In that moment he sees fear in her eyes and something… else.

The raw mixture of fear and longing, like oil and water, wells up in her and her heart feels as if it will leap from her chest at any moment. A cold bead of sweat trickles down from between her shoulder blades and makes its way toward where Connor's hand is on her back. She knows what he wants and she cannot bring herself to allow it, nor can she resist him. She presses her hand against his chest and moves to the side. His hands come away from her body, a crippling blend of relief and regret taking their place. Had she not decided to stay with him for his kindness and protection? Did she not accept that it would involve putting her past behind her? Despite knowing that she is used and polluted, he still had kissed her. By doing so he had as good as told her that her past does not affect how he views her. But every time he touches her, her mind works hard at twisting his caress into a rough grab, a soft stroke into a strike, corrupting his kindness with a dark cloak of violence.

Catherine wants nothing more than to forget what was done to her. She is unable to come up with even a vague estimate of how many times each of those horrid men had taken her. Why, now that she has someone standing before her who would never force her or hurt her, can she not separate one from the other? God, if only she had been able to get away from them that day. None of that would have happened to her.

Connor's hand on her shoulder brings her back and she finds herself on her knees between the wood bridges.

"Oh God… I was gone again wasn't I?"

"I suppose you could say that. Your eyes were looking far away and then you knelt down. I did not want to touch you but you were not waking up."

"I'm sorry Connor, I don't want to practice this anymore."

"I understand. Do you want to rest inside?"

"No. I want you to teach me how to fight."

"I do not know if that is a good idea right now. You seem upset by what you were remembering." Catherine raises her eyes to Connor and takes a handful of his jacket in her right hand, pushing against his chest.

"I _am_ upset! I'll never be able to move past what was done to me until I know it will never happen again." Connor's eyes open wider at her sudden ferocity.

"It will not happen again." He tries to keep his voice low to calm her.

"You don't know that!" Catherine cries. Tears shine in her eyes and she pushes harder against Connor. He raises his hand to her wrist and tries to take her hand away but she clenches her fingers tighter. He looks into her eyes, finding a frightening desperation in them.

"WildCat, I will not let it happen again."

"You can't be by my side for every moment of the rest of my life." Catherine's anxious insistence touches off Connor's frustration and it comes through in his voice.

"What else would you have me do, then?"

"Teach me! Teach me how to get away if someone grabs me." Connor continues to look at her with doubt in his eyes. The last thing he wants right now is to reenact her capture, to play the part of a rapist.

"Please, Connor." He sighs, reigning in his aggravation and becoming deadly serious.

"If you are at all not sure about this, tell me now. This will be hard for both of us, but worse for you. I refuse to start this if we are not going see it through to its conclusion. Do you understand what that means?" Catherine is silent, knowing exactly what it means. She nods.

"Tell me, WildCat."

"It means I'll relive all of it, over and over. It means… that you won't stop, even if I scream and cry for you to let go. That… I will hate you for it, even as I'm grateful for the lesson." Tears fall from her eyes unchecked. Connor nods again when she finishes speaking, the pain in his heart almost unbearable. He reaches up and touches a tear that has settled at the edge of her jaw with his finger.

"I had hoped you would not want to learn hand to hand combat. I knew it would bring back painful memories for you."

"It's the only way." Connor shakes his head, his irritation gaining the upper hand again.

"No. It is _not_ the only way, it is just the only way you can see right now." He takes his fingers from her face and gently but effectively pries her hand from his chest. Getting up, he turns his back to her and paces away. With one hand rubbing the back of his neck, he shakes his head and stares up at the top of the cliff far above the cabin. How long will this take? A week? Longer? How many bruises will she regain as a result of this, and from his own hands? It is one thing to fight an enemy but another entirely to deliberately restrain a woman in such a violent way. This goes against everything, _everything_ he knows and crosses every value that had been instilled in him both as a Kanien'keha:ka man and as an Assassin. How can he do this to a woman he cares for? A woman he wants to kiss and caress… and maybe even love? He lowers his head and sighs again. He understands why she wants to do this. The world she comes from is not a safe one for women. Even if she were to become his wife, it is unlikely that she would stay in his village forever, especially if he were to change how he runs the Brotherhood. They would be in Davenport, a place filled with the best people he knows but not so separate from the world that she would be perfectly safe. As his companion, she would be considered a weak spot, a target and a way for his enemies to get to him. She is right and he knows it. If he has to leave her behind at times, she should know how to protect herself and not just with weapons.

Catherine watches as Connor paces. Despite what he said, this is the only way for her to heal. She has to face it and come away knowing she is capable of escaping. As he turns and starts walking back to her she gets to her feet, aware that the worst part will be the beginning when everything is fresh and she still knows nothing. Without any preamble, Connor begins instructing her.

"The first thing you need to know are the vulnerable places on any target. The ears, eyes, nose, throat, and groin. They are unprotected and painful when injured. If someone has you, you aim for those places first. You can dig your thumbs into an attacker's eyes, slap his ears with your flat palms, or grab his ears and pull them forward." He takes her hand and flattens her palm.

"Hold your hand rigid and strike with the side of it on the nose and throat, or with the base of it on the nose. You strike fast and hard; no hesitation, no obvious draw back. A knee or kick to the groin as a follow up will render your attacker unable to chase you. Once you strike, you run." He moves her hand to demonstrate hitting his nose with her palm and then shows her the chopping move on his throat. He lets go of her hand.

"Hit me. I am attacking you." He stands before her with his hands slightly up in front of him. Catherine hesitates and he lunges at her, grabbing the neckline of her shirt and using his forward force to bear her down to the ground where he straddles her waist. Catherine screams and reaches for his wrists. When she raises her hand to swing at him, he grabs her wrist and raises it up over her head.

"You cannot hesitate! Not for one moment. If you are too slow you will not succeed and then you are theirs." He gets off of her and pulls her to her feet. Once more he stands before her.

"Hit me." Catherine hesitates and for a second time he grabs her and takes her to the ground. Catherine's body shakes beneath him as she tries to contain her distress.

"I said hit me!" Connor leans forward over her and for just a brief flash, the man with the whip is the one straddling her, holding the front of her dress in his hands and starting to rip it from her body. With a scream that comes from somewhere deep inside her, Catherine smashes her palm into the bottom left side of Connor's nose. He reels backward and to the right, instinctively lifting his hands from her shirt to cover his face. Blood runs from beneath his hands and Catherine stares horrified at what she has done. He moves his hands away from his face and looks at them while a dark river of blood streams from his nose, staining his mouth and chin crimson before raining into the snow. When raises his tear blurred eyes to her and sees that she is just lying there he raises his voice.

"Run!" He starts to get to his feet and Catherine rolls onto her stomach and lurches to her hands and knees.

"Get up and RUN!" Connor bellows at her. He leans forward and reaches for her nearest foot with his bloody hand. Catherine screams and leaps to her feet, running as fast as she can into the woods. When her lungs are burning and her legs feel weak, she drops to her hands and knees and vomits into the snow, sobbing for air between every retch and choke. Tears and mucous run from her eyes and nose as she tries desperately to remind herself that Connor is not a rapist.

"Connor is not a rapist. Connor is not a rapist Connor is not a rapistConnorisnotarapist…" The words tumble from her like a chant until they blur together and her heart rate and breathing start to slow to a more normal rate.

Catherine is unaware of how long she stays doubled over in the snow but when she finally gets up and makes her way back to the cabin, Connor is nowhere in sight. The abandoned obstacle course covers a large part of the clear area beside the cabin and part of her wishes she had never asked to stop practicing, even though she knows she had to. Blood stains mark the snow where she had run from Connor and a trail of red droplets indicate that he went towards the gorge. The chestnut horse is by the cliff standing in a sunny spot where his enclosure used to be, the sole representation of peace in a wasteland of fractured intentions. Catherine heads to the cabin and opens the door a crack, peeking inside to see if Connor is there. He is not. A stab of worry pierces her and all she can see in her head is the blood pouring from his nose. She crosses quickly to the supply room and takes some rags from the shelf before heading back outside.

At the bottom of the trail, Catherine looks up towards the waterfall and sees Connor sitting cross legged on a low, flat rock beside the river with his hood pulled up. His elbows are resting on his knees and his right hand is cupped over his nose. He is a picture of misery, intensified when he does not look up as she approaches him. Maybe he was wrong when he said it would be worse for her. While what he did was frightening, he never actually hurt her; the only thing he forced her to do was react. Not only is he hurting physically from their little exercise, he is hurting mentally as well. Blood still covers his open mouth and chin visible below his hand and a trail of blood has run down his neck and dripped onto his jacket. Dark lines spiral down his wrist from his right hand and disappear under his sleeve. Red smudges mar left side and front of his hood where he pulled it up with bloodied fingers. Bending to the river, Catherine wets one of the rags in the freezing water and steps closer Connor. She kneels by the flat rock and takes his left hand in hers. Though their heads are just about at the same height, she keeps her eyes on his hand as she cleans the blood from his skin.

Connor can hardly bear to look at Catherine as she kneels before him with the rag. The one request she has made of him has driven him to behave in a way so contrary to his nature that he is repelled by his own existence. For her to even want to be near him after what he did is a confounding mystery. When she finishes with his hand, she washes the rag in the river and returns to facing him. Holding the rag in her left hand and resting the back of her wrist on his calf for balance, she leans closer and reaches her right hand toward him, gently pushing his hood back from his face. She takes the rag from her left hand and, with a feather light touch, carefully starts cleaning the blood off his chin. Connor slowly releases the squeezing pressure he had been holding on his nose and groans at the pain. The bleeding seems to have stopped, so he lowers his right hand from over his nose. Catherine quietly gasps when he does and he knows his nose must be a mess. He is fairly certain she did not break it but it still feels twice its normal size. As Catherine doggedly continues her ministrations, being careful not to exert any pressure on him, he notices a red mark on her chest where her fabric shirt is unlaced. He reaches over with his left hand and pulls on the corner of her shirt. Catherine freezes in place but Connor moves her shirt to the side anyway. Once he has seen the rest of the marks dotting her collar bones and upper chest, he drops the material and sighs, shaking his head. Never in his life did he think he would ever mark a woman's skin with violence.

When Connor takes his hand from her shirt and sighs, Catherine reaches her left hand to where he had been looking. Her fingers find several tender spots and she realizes that she must have visible marks on her chest from when he grabbed her and pushed her down. She doesn't care, but he obviously does. There is nothing she can do about that so she continues addressing his injuries. Connor's nose is a hideous shade of purple and some of the duskiness has spread outwards towards his eyes. The left side of it is more swollen than the right. He is forced to continue breathing through his mouth since she is sure his nasal passages are filled with clotted blood. As she cleans his lips off, all she can think of is when he kissed her wrist. Was that really only a day ago? More carefully then ever, she washes around his nostrils and over the top of his nose where his bloody fingers had been. There is a small tear in his skin where his left nostril meets his face. He stoically submits to her but she knows he is in great pain when he closes his eyes and holds his breath. His right hand hovers near his face as she works but Catherine tries to be gentle enough so he doesn't stop her.

Catherine's face is only inches from his as she swabs at him. The rag comes away more and more vivid with blood and she has to clean it out half way through. Her eyebrows are knitted with concentration and sadness and her bottom lip quivers when he slightly hisses through his clenched teeth once. Only when she reaches for his right hand does she finally look into his eyes for an extended period of time. Connor finds that it is actually a relief, since all the time she had spent cleaning him off she had resembled a frightened servant girl, afraid to look into her abusive master's eyes. He still feels like a beast for earlier but at least she seems to be regaining some confidence. If his pain means her breaking free of the captivity of her mind then it is worth it. Catherine pushes back the sleeve of his jacket and shirt with her fingers and cleans the almost dry trails of blood from his wrist as far as she can reach. Once his hand is clean, Catherine drops the rag on the ground and reaches toward him with both hands. When her fingers land on the top button of his jacket, he shifts backward.

"Wad are you doing?" His quiet words are distorted by his clogged nostrils.

"Your jacket is covered in blood. I need to wash it or it will be stained permanently." Connor nods and starts unbuttoning his jacket from the bottom while Catherine works downward. She goes behind him and helps it off of his shoulders and arms before taking it to the river and scrubbing it with a fresh rag. Connor never would have expected her to be taking off his clothes in such disturbing circumstances. The irony of it makes him grimace. He had longed to feel her hands taking even a single article of his clothing off for days, knowing it was only a fantasy and now she just has, after he threw her to the ground and forced her to smash his face. When she finishes cleaning it, she lays his jacket in the snow and rises to her feet. Kneeling once again in front of him, she leans forward, reaches towards him and curls her ice cold fingers into the hair at the back of his head. She meets his eyes and then pulls his head toward her just enough to press her lips lightly to the top of his forehead in a soft kiss. Drawing back, she meets his eyes and speaks quietly.

"I don't know if I should thank you or apologize. Maybe I should do both." Connor raises his hands up and rests them on her forearms.

"I can only apologize bud you would nod have id, would you?" Catherine shakes her head and kisses his forehead again.

"No." she whispers, and withdraws her hands from him, picks up his jacket and the rags and walks back to the cabin.

Knowing Connor will probably not stay outside for much longer because she has his jacket, she takes off her shirts and quickly washes her upper body before putting just the hide one back on. The fabric shirt is soaked with sweat from earlier so she washes it and lays it to dry beside Connor's jacket near the fire. She remembers her coat still hanging outside and retrieves it, peeking over the railing to see if Connor is still sitting by the river. The rock is empty, its dark surface standing out against the blue white of the snow and the trampled area where she had joined him so she hurries back inside, assuming he is probably on the trail up to the cabin. Grabbing the pail Connor usually uses to hold ice in, she dumps most of the water into the pot by the fire and brings it outside to fill with snow.

When Connor opens the door to the cabin, Catherine is at the table with a cup of tea, her back to the window facing the porch. Her left elbow is on the table and her head is propped on her hand. The purple welts from the bow string are dark against the paleness of her bare skin. Connor leans against the wall with one hand and takes off his boots, being careful not to tip his head forward. When he starts toward the fire, Catherine gets up and gathers up her shirt and his jacket, taking them to hang on pegs to finish drying. Returning to where he is now sitting on his bedroll that he never put away that morning, Catherine stands at the head of it looking down at him. She drops gracefully to her knees at the head of his bedroll and reaches to his shoulder, tugging at the sleeve until he leans toward her.

"Lie down on your back." Connor slowly complies, wondering what it is she wants of him now. She pulls her hair back so it all falls behind her. Feeling much better with his head down, he closes his eyes and bends his knees up, resting his feet on the mat comfortably and bringing his right hand onto his stomach. He opens his eyes again when he hears the sounds of water dripping. Above his head, Catherine is leaning toward the pail on the hearth with her left arm extended toward it. Turning his head toward where Catherine is reaching, he watches as she brings a wrung out rag towards his face. The warm fingers of her right hand touch his forehead to guide his head over towards the right and she lays the rag lightly over his nose. It is ice cold but it starts to relieve the throbbing pain in his face almost immediately. He sighs and closes his eyes again.

"Thad feels good, WildCad."

"I'm glad." She softly strokes his hair with her hands, tucking a section behind his ear and moving the beaded braid out of the way before idly moving her fingers through the hair on the sides of his head. She checks the temperature of the rag on his face and exchanges it for one that has been sitting in the bucket of slush. Connor's breathing is steady and even and eventually he extends his legs out and crosses his ankles. Some of the lines smooth in his forehead and at the corners of his eyes as he relaxes. After exchanging the rags several times, she lets the last one take on the temperature of his skin, slowly stroking his hair the whole time. His breathing deepens and Catherine slows the movement of her hands in his hair to soothe him further, not stopping even when she is sure he is asleep.


	10. Chapter 10

Truth

Connor wakes in the early afternoon, his nose throbbing. Catherine is no longer sitting at his head, though he remembers the feeling of her fingers in his hair and against his scalp, her touch drawing out his tension and lulling him. In jagged contrast to what he had felt on his skin, her actions deeply disturb him. He had terrorized her, shouted at her, made her run from him in fear. In return she had come back to him, submissively seeking him out to clean his wounds, apologize and touch him as softly as a lover. It is bizarre and unsettling that she would react in that way after being treated so harshly by him. Possibly even more upsetting is he had allowed her to behave like that, accepting her fawning as if it were the correct way of things when it is most definitely not. She should spurn him, hate him even, for what he has done and he feels guilty and horrid for it. Reaching for the bucket of slush, he finds the water cold but not icy as he had hoped. No matter. A brute such as he does not deserve relief from well deserved pain.

For the rest of the afternoon after Catherine's first lesson in self defense, Connor is withdrawn and quiet. He barely looks at her but when he does, his eyes are pained. Catherine does not intrude on his hunched silence, understanding his need to look inward though unaware of the real reason, blind to the intensity of Connor's self loathing. Catherine starts to gather together the things she needs to cook food for them and Connor finally breaks his silence.

"You do not need to slave for me." His voice is uncharacteristically gruff and it startles Catherine. She looks up at him as she crosses the cabin.

"I'm not your slave. I'm merely making us dinner." Connor steps toward her, intercepting her and blocking her path to the fireplace with his body, causing her to slow her pace and finally stop.

"I can do it." He insists. Catherine tilts her head and looks quizzically at him, confused by his persistence.

"You don't have to; you're hurt. You should not move your head so much, you might start bleeding again." Connor brings his left hand to his forehead and sweeps it down to the side with an irate scoff.

"It is nothing!" They lock eyes where they stand facing each other in front of the fireplace and Catherine can't understand why Connor is so irritated with her. His attitude is seemingly unfounded and she becomes defensive.

"It's not nothing! I hit you hard. It… it wasn't you I saw before me…." To her consternation, Connor seems to become even angrier when her words falter and become contrite.

"Do not apologize! I made you do it, I forced you. Save your pity for those who deserve it." Catherine's face hardens as Connor crosses his arms over his chest and lifts his chin. So that's why he's so angry. He is harder on himself than necessary, but Sonehso:wa did say he has strange ideas of honor at times. She cannot stop the cynical snort that comes out with her exhalation.

"Is that what you think happened today? You're wrong. I asked you to do what you did. You made certain I knew what was involved. Don't you dare pretend that I'm some… victim because I am not." Catherine punctuates her sentences with her shoulders, raising them and jostling the items she carries in her arms. Her conviction as she stands before him, looking up at his face and shaking her head as she speaks, breaks through the wall Connor had put up to keep her at bay.

Connor's shoulders lose their bunched rigidity and drop down to a more relaxed posture. His piercing gaze and half frown recede, leaving him looking drawn out and exhausted more than anything else. It is evident he is dealing with Catherine's request to train her poorly. She shifts the items in her arms until she can free one hand. She touches his elbow and looks up at him before moving around him, letting her hand fall as she does. She leans down and puts what she had collected on the hearth before positioning herself on the bear hide. She looks up at him and pats the hide next to her, a small smile lifting the corners of her mouth, hoping it will disarm him the rest of the way.

Connor looks down at Catherine, her upturned face no longer appearing full of pity, but rather compassion. Such a beautiful woman she is, so small yet carrying the resolve of a giant. He can still barely stand to look at her for too long knowing that he deliberately overpowered her and will do so again before long. Yet here she sits, absolving him of culpability for what did. Whether it is with her permission or not, the weight is uneasy on his shoulders and despite agreeing to teach her, he knows he will struggle with the responsibility until it is over. He settles down beside her with a sigh of resignation and together they make dinner.

The next morning is a repeat of her nausea, though at least this time her arm does not add to her misery. When she returns from the porch, Connor is waiting for her, sitting on his mat and scrutinizing her in silence. His nose is surprisingly not as bruised as she had expected it to be from his injury and he speaks nothing of it, leaving to hunt shortly after eating breakfast. Once she feels better Catherine practices her balance, running and jumping on the bridges Connor had built, even doing a cartwheel or two when she is feeling daring. She is still pacing back and forth on one of the bridges when she catches sight of Connor sloshing through the decaying snow on his way back from hunting. The snow is slowly melting during the day, freezing over at night only to repeat the process the following day. It has become slushy underfoot and large, icy puddles have formed in some lower dips in the landscape. The melting runoff has swollen the river to a tumultuous rush of power that charges over the cliff and crashes far below, overflowing the banks of the river and filling the gorge with choppy water that slaps against the rock walls containing it. An entire tree had been torn out by its roots from somewhere up above and thrown over the waterfall where it has lodged itself against the submerged boulders. The water had risen behind it until it rushed over in a mighty, frothing arc.

Connor approaches Catherine where she stands on the branch, her feet curled over the curve of the wood. He has no game to show for his efforts. Catherine suspects he simply needs distance from her despite their strange compromise the evening before. He appears noticeably calmer and even offers up a small smile when he gets closer. In the sun, the shadow of a bruise darkens the left side of his nose and curves under his left eye in a thin line of murky purple. When he is close enough, he places his foot on the bridge and shakes it. Catherine balances on it, raising her arms out to the side and bending her knees. The smile on his face becomes mischievous and he steps up onto the branch and bounces on it. Catherine lets out a squeal, partly in offense but more in enjoyment, maintaining her balance until he stops.

"I am happy to see you practicing."

"And I suppose I should be happy you see fit to try to shake me off."

"I am only trying to make you better." He jumps down and motions with his hand for her to follow him. She joins him as he walks over toward the cabin where he removes his bow and quiver, depositing them on the porch along with his hatchet.

"I will teach you more ways to get away from an attacker today." A flash of worry crosses Catherine's face.

"I will not make you hit me in the face this time." She nods and follows him when he walks to the open space in front of the porch.

"If someone grabs you from behind, you have more than one option depending on how he does it." Connor moves behind Catherine and places his hands on her shoulders.

"If this is how you are attacked, bring both your elbows back and hit him in the ribs. At the same time, stomp on his foot with your heel as hard as you can." He tightens his hands on her shoulders and drags back on her. Catherine, having learned her lesson on hesitation from the previous day's exercise, immediately swings her elbows back. She misses his foot with her stomp but both her elbows come into contact with Connor's ribs and he lets out a short, muffled grunt.

Connor, too, has learned from the last lesson, is ready for her attack and has tightened his abdomen to reduce any chance of actually getting injured. He releases her shoulders and she runs forward from him and onto the porch.

"Good. You did not hesitate." She comes back and he places his hands on her shoulders again.

"If you are not released after you hit your attacker, bend your knees and bring your arms straight up. That will break the grip your attacker has on you so you can run away." Catherine nods and Connor grasps her shoulders tighter than before, making her gasp. Again she reels her elbows back and hits Connor's ribs. This time her heel does not miss. Connor steps back and loosens his grab slightly on her and she lets her body fall almost to the ground. She only has to raise her arms partway before she no longer feels Connor's grip on her. Dropping to her knees, she scrambles forward and runs to the porch again. When she turns, seeking his approval, Connor nods at her.

Connor moves closer to the cabin and has Cat stand facing it.

"If you are grabbed from behind and you can push off of something with your legs, you can often throw your attacker off balance enough to make him fall and release you." As Catherine is nodding, Connor wraps his arms around her waist and arms over her elbows and lifts her off the ground. She struggles, flailing her legs. Connor's face is beside her ear when he speaks.

"No, stop panicking! You need to be able to think and see what is around you." Catherine hangs limply from his arms, her heart racing. Connor moves a step closer to the cabin and Catherine swings her legs up and pushes off the log wall. Her attempt is weak and Connor barely steps backwards.

"That didn't really work; you still have me."

"Try pushing off the wall again. Do it harder this time." He tightens his arms and Catherine kicks upward and heaves with all her strength in her legs. Connor falls backward with Catherine and when they hit the ground, his body protects her from the impact and he releases her. Catherine rolls away and gets to her feet.

"You let me go. How will I know I can really escape if you let me go?"

"I am showing you first and later I will test you." Catherine nods, frustration clear on her face, and steps closer to him.

"Anything you can do to free yourself is good, but you have to be calm. If you only struggle wildly, you will lower the chance of escaping but a clear headed, intentional move like striking backwards with your head, a kick, a drop down or an attack like you did yesterday will be much more effective. You can punch or grab for the groin but I hope you can understand why I do not want to practice that one." He moves the position of his arms so they are around her waist again but leave her arms free.

"Now you have the opportunity to reach back, grab for my eyes or ears, as well as try any of the other moves. To stop me from picking you up, you can hook your ankles around my legs." He tightens his arms around her waist and starts to lift, but when she hooks her ankles as he had instructed, he fails to lift her. He even gives an extra hard tug just to prove that he isn't going easy on her. Letting her go, he turns her around, bringing his arms around her and over her elbows again. He pulls her to his chest. Not for the first time, Connor wishes he could be free of this macabre simulation. Because of it, he wonders if it is wise of him to rush through the lessons like this.

"This puts you in perfect position to aim for my groin with your knee or your hands." He quickly releases her, feeling phantom pain in his genitals just thinking about sustaining injury there.

"I am certain you would be able to free yourself easily from any man with that tactic." Catherine notices Connor's obvious discomfort at the subject matter. He clears his throat and continues.

"The best way to avoid any of this is to not get caught in the first place. If you know you are going to be grabbed from behind, move your arms out from your body and lean forward so it is harder for your attacker to pin your arms or wrap their hands around you." Catherine nods and Connor mulls over whether he should bring her inside and continue.

"Do you want to learn one more? It could be… reminiscent of your capture so I understand if you do not want to yet." Catherine's stomach drops and she considers his question.

"One more is fine."

"I will stop if it is too upsetting." Catherine's stomach feels even worse and she wonders what he is going to do.

"Come inside." With all her might, Catherine represses the urge to rescind her agreement. Her heart flutters in her chest.

Once they are inside, Connor lies down in the middle of the floor, his feet facing the bed and his head towards the fireplace. Catherine stands looking down at him.

"If someone manages to get you down on your back and they are going to… assault you…" He looks up at her to gauge her expression. Her face is neutral until he hesitates on his choice of words. Only her lip twitches but her breathing is faster than normal.

"… raise your legs up as they approach and use your strength to push them off and to the side." He demonstrates with his legs and then looks at her carefully.

"Do you want to practice this?" Catherine's heart is racing as memories well up, clogging her mind. Using every ounce of her strength, she contains them and focuses on staying calm. Connor sits up and crosses his legs. He raises his right hand to her and she takes it with her left, allowing him to guide her down to sit across from him on the floor.

"WildCat, is this upsetting you?" He squeezes her hand and she looks up. She takes a deep breath and squeezes back.

"I need to do this."

"Very well." Connor stays seated while Catherine lies down on the floor beside him. He waits until she turns her gaze to him from the ceiling and nods her assent before getting up. Moving to her feet and watching Catherine's face for the first sign of fear, he kneels and takes her ankles in his hands, sliding her booted feet up until her knees are bent and her boots are flat on the floor. He shimmies forward on his knees and raises her feet up to place them against his chest.

"Your legs are your strongest muscles, especially since you ride so much. Use them to your advantage in this situation. Push against me." Catherine pushes and Connor leans into her pressure. The more he leans, the harder she pushes until he raises his knees off the floor.

"Push me to the side." Catherine swings her legs and dumps Connor onto the floor. Connor sits back up and looks carefully at Catherine.

"Now you have to be able to do that faster." He moves back to her feet and straightens her legs out. Rising to his feet, he stands over her.

"I am attacking you." He starts to drop down as if he is going to kneel over her and Catherine bends her knees up and knocks him aside.

"Good. Faster this time" He moves quickly, not even standing completely before starting to drop down on her again. Once again she throws him aside. He rolls onto his stomach and looks up at her. His expression is serious and he raises an eyebrow at her questioningly.

"I'm alright still." Connor nods and stands. Suddenly he moves to her side, grabs her wrists and hauls her roughly to her feet. Catherine's eyes open wide and she gasps.

"What are you doing?" Without responding, he backs her toward the bed and throws her down on it. Her body bounces on the mattress, her knees falling open to the sides as her heels bang into the wooden frame. While she is still in motion, Connor lunges toward her. She only just manages to bring her feet up in time to prevent him from getting on top of her. Letting out a grunt as she throws him to the right, her redirection is so powerful that she rolls completely on her side and almost joins him on the floor beside the bed. Quickly flipping herself to the left, she flees the bed and runs to the door, fumbling with the latch before she can regain control of her fear. She leans her forehead against the door, breathing fast. After she calms down, she looks over her shoulder towards the bed.

Connor has settled himself against the wall, sitting similarly to when they had had their first long conversation before he cleaned her back. His elbows are propped on his bent knees and his head is back against the wall. He looks over at her and when their eyes meet Catherine calls to him from the door.

"Let's not practice that one again." He shakes his head in agreement and raises his hands up to his head, tearing the tie from his short ponytail and rubbing his fingers into his hair. He stays with his head supported in his hands for a while, grimacing and rubbing his temples and scalp.

"I should have dropped." Connor looks up when Catherine calls over to him from the door again. He lowers his hands from his head and his hair falls down over his cheeks.

"Dropped…" Catherine pushes away from the door and starts to walk toward him.

"Me. I should have dropped to the floor when you first picked me up. It would have been harder for you to drag me to the bed." Connor nods as Catherine sits down beside him against the wall. He turns his face forward again and rests his head back. Catherine picks up the red tie Connor had discarded on the floor beside his legs and twiddles with it, untying the knot and winding it around her fingers.

"What… what went though your mind when you did that to me?" Connor turns to look at her with a horrified expression on his face.

"I felt like the most disgusting person ever to exist. I wondered if I had gone too far and you would never forgive me for it." Catherine's eyes remain steadily fixed on his.

"You would only have been unforgivably disgusting if you had actually been trying to rape me." Connor scoffs and turns his face forward again.

"It is disgusting to even pretend. I saw fear in your eyes. It looked real to me." Catherine is quiet for a moment.

"It was real. But I still succeeded. That's all that matters."

"How…?" Connor turns to face Catherine again before continuing his sentence.

"… how can you sit here next to me then? If you had not succeeded, I would have been on top of you."

"It was… easier to calm down this time."

"What happened last time?" His eyes are dark and Catherine hesitates to tell him.

"I don't want to tell you."

"WildCat…"

"No! You'll just be angry with yourself. It's not important."

"It is to me."

"Why, so you can berate yourself about it? How would you feel if I demanded to know in great detail just how badly your nose hurt after I hit you and then wept pathetically over it?" To Catherine's surprise, Connor's mouth twitches into a smile and he drops his head to look at the floor. He raises it again, still smiling as he shakes his head and catches Catherine's eyes. She frowns at him.

"It's not funny! You're too hard on yourself."

"Would you weep pathetically over my nose?" Despite her last statement, Catherine finds herself laughing at his question. She schools her face to seriousness.

"Only if it was broken and hideous."

"I am relieved you think it is still pretty." He faces the bed and touches his nose gently with the fingers of his left hand. Catherine turns her upper body toward him, placing her right hand on his arm. The red tie is looped over her thumb. He stills his fingers touching his nose and looks down at her hand on his arm.

"Oh, Connor. I never said it's pretty…" Catherine's voice is mockingly serious and she shakes her head with innocent solemnity. Connor raises his gaze from her hand to her face and narrows his eyes. Catherine can no longer withhold her amusement and breaks into a smile again. Dropping his left hand on top of hers on his arm, he smiles in return.

"At least you are honest." He takes her hand and moves his right arm up, straightening his right leg and drawing her closer until their sides are touching. To his delight, Catherine rests her head on the front of his shoulder. He curls his right hand down onto her side where it settles comfortably into the curve of her waist. Bringing her hand to his face, he kisses the tips of her fingers before lowering their hands to his leg. He could sit like this forever if she would let him and he has a growing sense of certainty that she would.

Catherine looks down at his hand holding hers. His palm and fingers are calloused from years of weapon use and there is a large faded scar across the back. Veins stand out under his skin and shift when he moves his fingers. Tracing the lines of his veins and following the scar, Catherine explores his skin, his fingers giving way to her touch as she bends and straightens them idly. At last she lets her hand rest inside his cupped palm, his thumb describing light circles over the side of her wrist, Connor's hair tie forgotten where it fell from Catherine's thumb onto the floor at some point.

Catherine can no longer ignore the reason she needs to run to the porch every time she wakes up. Connor had not followed her outside after the first time, though he was awake and staring at her this morning the same as yesterday when she returned. She is getting waves of nausea in the late morning and early evening, usually when she has not eaten for a while. Finally, after Connor leaves again to hunt, she sits down at the table to concentrate. Counting back, she arrives at eleven for the number of days she has been here with Connor. He had rescued her on the eighth of February. She had started her monthly courses only four days after her marriage to Francisco, which would be the sixth of January. Her hands shake as she realizes she is two weeks late for her menses. She thought it was just stress; the nausea and exhaustion, her emotional ups and downs, her aching breasts. Her breasts had hurt a lot from the abuse of her captors and she had done her best to ignore the constant ache. Now, she recalls the past two days of running and jumping from one bridge to another, how much her breasts had hurt from the movement and even that she had used her hands to support them a couple of times. She presses a hand to one and flinches at her heightened awareness of them.

A different kind of nausea fills her stomach. This is beyond any doubt the worst thing that could result from what she has been through. Worse even than the emotional pain of remembering. To have part of her _merged _with that of one of her captors… it's an atrocity. Being made to grow this thing inside of her, birth it and raise it is a violation of her body far worse than being raped, worse than even death itself. Death would have been a mercy compared to having to look upon the product of such hate and violence daily. She will be reminded of the men and what they did to her for the rest of her life. Dear God, what if it looks like whichever man it was who filled her with his get? It would not even be so bad if it had been Francisco's child. At least it would have been the result of her husband's sexual act and not that of a stranger's whose only goal was to inflict pain and merciless degradation upon her. _Oh, God, please do not let it be the one with the whip; please, God, if there is any mercy… _Her head spins and she feels herself slipping, becoming unhinged from any sense of reality. She reaches to her flat stomach and places both hands on it, looking down at her splayed fingers and whispering to the tiny bit of life that is tearing down the fragile vestiges of hope that had remained in her.

"Where are you, you little bastard? I would pinch out your life before it can progress any farther if I could just reach you... I could never love you and this world has no place for you." She presses the tips of her fingers into her skin until it hurts and then presses harder. She gasps from the pain and takes her hands away, pulling up her shirt and dragging down the waist of her pants so she can stare at the ten red spots she has left on her abdomen. Falling back against the chair, she lets her head tip backwards as she closes her eyes. Her heart races and a frightening level of anger fills her. Leaping out of her chair, she turns and kicks it backwards. It merely tips onto the floor, seeming to mock her weakness.

"God _dammit_! Why?" Catherine screams at the chair and fights to hold in her nausea until it becomes apparent that she will not be able to any longer. Running for the door, she flings it open and falls to her knees at the railing, emptying what little had been in her stomach over the edge of the cliff until there is truly nothing left. Still she retches, as if she could turn herself inside out and purge her body of its intruder by force. Clenching her fists on the railing, she digs her nails into her palms and feasts on the pain of her skin breaking under their edges. She presses her mouth to the railing. If she screams, Connor will hear her and she cannot face him with this awful truth. The thought of having to tell him frightens her. He's been willing to set aside what was done to her but how could he overlook this? This is a tangible, very real thing that will impact her life in ways beyond physical and emotional scarring. She needs to leave. Somehow, she needs to leave him so she will not burden him any longer. Her heart clenches and she gasps out a sob, knowing she will be leaving behind the first man to ever have shown her true caring and compassion. Clutching two fistfuls of her hair on the sides of her scalp, she bows her head to her knees and strangles on her suppressed screams. She really thought she could have a future with him. But this child… no, this _thing_ inside her has destroyed all of that. She can't let her scandalous downfall affect Connor's life. For all his concern for her and their growing affinity, there is no way he could forgive such a repellent monstrosity. She can't even forgive herself, her own body, for betraying her with such perverse and irrevocable permanence.

Back inside, Catherine crawls into the bed and lies face down on her pillow. Her body is wracked by sobs and she curls up onto her side until she cycles back into a rage at the shallow reason she is here to begin with. She clutches the feather pillow to her face and screams into it until she is breathless and hoarse, the fabric cold and damp with her bitter tears. No action on her part feels adequate to expel her torment. If she could just scream louder, punch harder, hurt worse, she could get away somehow. But every effort she makes smacks of hollowness and futility, for she is still here, still pregnant and still condemned.

Connor trudges through the wet snow to the cabin, more successful than he had been in days, returning with a brace of rabbits and a winter fox, its fur still brilliant white with a black tipped tail. He is looking forward to giving Catherine the fox and suggesting that she make something pleasing for herself from the fur. Inside, he is surprised to see a chair tipped onto the floor and Catherine in bed. Stealthily, he moves closer to look at her sleeping form and his unease increases when he sees her puffy, red rimmed eyes and ruddy cheeks. She has been crying. Have all his lessons finally caught up with her and taken her back to her weeks of captivity? If so, she had had to suffer through it alone. If only he could be sure that she would not become afraid he would crawl into the bed with her and take her in his arms to soothe her pain away. When she shifts, she reaches her right hand to the pillow next to her head, unfurling her fingers to reveal four half-moon shaped red marks crossing her palm. Reaching over her body, he lowers the blanket until her other hand is revealed to him. With the gentlest touch he can manage, he uncurls her fingers and discovers identical marks. She moans hoarsely and pulls away, tugging at the covers. Connor frowns and pulls them up for her.

Catherine stays in bed until the evening, unwilling to eat or tell Connor what happened. He crosses the room, no longer able to endure her intractable silence.

"WildCat, I am worried about you. Why will you not get out of bed?" He stands by the bed looking down at Catherine where she lies curled on her side, her back to him.

"I'm sick," is her only response. He walks to the other side of the bed so that he can see her face and places his hands on the mattress, leaning closer to her and resting one knee on the side of the bed. She squeezes her eyes shut and draws the covers up over her chin with her hands.

"Connor, please don't. Just leave me alone."

"I have left you alone all day. Something is wrong and I cannot help you unless you talk to me." He crawls forward on the bed and sits on it, his legs crossed beneath him. Catherine stares at his right knee near her face with scratchy eyes and a heavy heart. As she stares, Connor brings his elbow down onto it and rests his head on his hand, watching her. His persistence is admirable but she knows he will only turn away in disgust once he knows her dreadful secret.

"Tell me what is wrong." He reaches his left hand toward her cheek and she jerks her head away, rolling to her other side and turning her back to Connor.

"Everything. Please…. Leave me be." Connor sighs and removes himself from the bed, returning to the fire to sit and reflect on what could be going on with Catherine. Why has she suddenly turned from him when only the day before they had been talking openly and laughing together? He has no answers when he finally tries to sleep. He wakes often in the night to the sounds of Catherine's muffled weeping and restless tossing in the bed.

In the morning, Catherine is once again compelled to fling herself out of bed and dash outside. In her haste, she is not careful about keeping quiet and the door bangs against the side of the cabin, coming to rest partway open. Her nausea is compounded by the horrible confirmation of her pregnancy. She gags painfully, her stomach having nothing to give yet refusing to settle. As her spasms subside, she rests her head on her arms and leans on the railing, eyes closed. Unable to bear the thought of carrying the spawn of one of those horrible men inside her, she gives in to her useless tears. Wracked by sobs and clutching her stomach, she slowly makes her way to the single step down from the porch, trailing her hand along the railing. All thoughts of staying with Connor have been swept from her mind, no longer a possibility now that she is sure of the fate that awaits her. With her right hand holding the last support post of the porch, she steps down into the snow and turns, her bare feet breaking through the thin crust of ice that had formed overnight. A second step brings her to the edge of the cliff. Looking down, the water roils wildly with the runoff of melting snow from the surrounding area. She knows she would never be able to swim in the maelstrom of rapids far below her, fed by the roaring waterfall to her right. The wood of the porch beam is cold under her hand with the mist that occasionally drifts over to the cabin from the gorge. Closing her eyes, she opens her hand on the beam, takes it from the wood and starts to lower her arm to her side. As she does, she thinks of leaning forward to allow gravity to gently guide her downwards and free her from the ruin of her life.

A vice-like grip closes on her wrist and her entire body is jerked violently away from the cliff edge. Catherine's eyes fly open when she collides with Connor and he takes a step back toward the cabin with his left arm around her body. With a guttural cry, she struggles in his arms, her right wrist still tightly held by him. Lifting her feet off the ground, she attempts to slip out from under his left arm. It only partially works, her shirt rucking up under her breasts and his arm slipping up from her waist while she kicks and writhes.

Connor takes a handful of her shirt and twists it in his fist against the right side of her ribcage, stopping her despite her continued kicking. If he had been only a moment slower, he could have lost her. How could he have been so careless? She was obviously withdrawing from him for a reason yesterday. Now he knows it is because she had lost her will to live. His stomach is sick at the thought. Backing up onto the porch, he releases her wrist and brings his right arm around her waist to further secure her. The bare skin of her stomach is warm and soft under his palm, smoother than the finest silk and animated with her rapid breathing and shifting muscles as she struggles. Connor is further sickened when he thinks of her soft warmth crushed under the weight of the rushing river, her skin growing cold and lifeless. Catherine manages to reach two handfuls of Connor's hair from her awkward position low on his chest but he drags his head back before she can grab it tightly enough to pull. She puts her feet on the railing and pushes off, slamming Connor backwards into the cabin wall, making him exhale in a rush. His grip loosens momentarily but he tightens it again, knowing that she will use what he has taught her against him.

"Let me go!" she screams.

"I will _not_." His voice is gravelly. Despite Connor's angry tone, a profound distress bleeds through in his voice. Catherine briefly struggles again, digging at his arms, and his hands tighten on her side and in the handful of her twisted shirt until she subsides. She looks at the floor, her head turned partly away from Connor. His feet are bare where they flank hers on the deck. He pushes off the wall and resumes bringing her into the cabin. Her body is damp with sweat and her back sticks to Connor's skin, the contact tugging with each of his steps. As he approaches the nearest chair with the clear intent to sit her down, she picks her feet up and tries to drop through his arms once more. It drives him to raise his voice at her.

"Stop! This is madness!" Catherine's reply is to push off the table with her feet and then wrap her ankles around Connor's legs as he steps backwards, tripping him. He goes down with a shout and a crash, releasing her to break his fall onto the wood floor. Catherine rolls off of him to the left onto her hands and knees and starts to crawl towards the open door but before she can get to her feet, Connor grabs her ankles and drags her backwards. He straddles her and reaches forward, taking her wrists and dropping most of his body weight onto her back, flattening her to the floor completely. She screams through clenched teeth, the sound starting low and then rising to a piercing high. Bending her elbows against her resistance, he brings her wrists tightly to the sides of her shoulders. Her hands are balled into fists so tight her knuckles are bloodless and white. In case she is tempted to rear her head back, Connor makes sure he keeps his face turned far towards her shoulder. Kicking her feet, she only manages to graze his thighs with her heels, though her struggles are surprisingly strong, even under most of his considerable weight. Connor is breathing slightly faster from the exertion but Catherine is panting and her neck is covered in beads of sweat.

"What spirits have taken you, woman?" Catherine struggles to breathe and he raises some of his weight off of her.

"I'm not possessed! Let me end this, please."

"End what? Your life? Never!"

"I will only become more of a burden. I want to spare you from it all."

"You want to spare me? By allowing me to find your broken and drowned body caught in the river like driftwood?" She is silent and Connor's voice is ragged with frustration.

"Are you done with this foolishness now?" She writhes again, pushing against his grip on her wrists and renewing her kicking and high pitched groans of effort. Her muscles slacken when he lets more of his weight down onto her again. He does not want to hurt her but this is the only way he can keep her from killing herself. Every exhalation comes from her with a heavy moan as his weight presses the air from her.

"I will stay like this all day if you keep on fighting." In spite of his warning, he hopes she does not, as he needs to empty his bladder sometime soon.

"It's the only way for me now," is her only quiet response. Connor shakes his head, sure now of why she had so abruptly cut herself off from him.

"I will not allow you to kill yourself just because you are pregnant." All the fight leaves her body with a ragged moan and she sags into the floor. Connor releases his grip on her wrists and raises himself up to his hands and knees. Catherine lies beneath him, motionless aside from her sobbing breaths, her hair spread out over her back and across the floor. Moving to the side, he walks to the door and shuts it, keeping an eye on Catherine the whole time lest she try to run for it. Instead of getting up, she rolls onto her right side and drags her knees up toward her chest, tucking her right arm beneath her head and her other down against her stomach. Her shirt is still bunched up, exposing a large portion of her back including several inches of her dark pink scar where it curves from her spine to her hip. Connor squats by the fireplace and gets the fire going to try to replace some warmth in the cabin. When he returns to Catherine, he kneels by her back on the floor, his knees towards her head.

"How did you know?" Her voice is a hoarse whisper. Connor's voice is low and gentle when he responds.

"I am not blind, WildCat. I have seen you showing the signs, the most obvious of them your regular sickness." She heaves an enormous sigh.

"I can't do it. I can't raise the child of one of my rapists. It will only be a reminder; a product of hate, pain and violence." Her voice cracks and Connor reaches over Catherine's curled body and places his left hand on the floor. With his right, he gently tips her raised shoulder back until it is almost on the floor. Her left hand rests on the top of his left knee while her legs remain turned to the right. Catherine keeps her head turned away from Connor, her hair looped across her chest and neck, tangled and wild from their struggles. Connor leans on his left hand and moves her hair off of her face with the fingers of his right hand.

"What about your husband? Could it be his?" She shakes her head.

"It isn't his. I had my courses only days after the wedding. It's one of _theirs._ Does it even matter? How could I ever love it, no matter who put it in me?"

"Because half of that child will be you." Connor strokes her cheek.

"I don't know if that is enough…"

"Of course it is. You are a fighter and stronger than you think you are. Where is the woman who used to speak of riding in the woods and feeling free? Where is my fiery, determined WildCat who said she would weep for my broken nose? There is so much good in you it can outweigh anything the child may inherit."

"That part of me is dead now." She presses her right fist to her stomach.

"No. It is still here. I have seen too much of it to believe that it could just disappear." Connor touches his fingers to her sternum and continues.

"And that is what you will encourage in your child. What _we_ will encourage."

Catherine turns her face toward him and shakes her head, her eyebrows drawing together and a tear running down her face. Her eyes have taken on the brilliant turquoise hue created by the redness surrounding her irises.

"You're crazy if you think anyone would believe this child is yours. My rapists were all white men. One even had blond hair and blue eyes. What if he is the one who got me pregnant? I will not saddle you with a child from another man. It's unfair and wrong."

"Being a father does not mean sharing blood or having the same skin, hair or eye color. I experienced that first hand with Achilles. I viewed him as a father and it did not matter that he was African and I what I am. I will happily be the father of this child if it means being with you."

"It's an abomination. I don't want it!" Catherine bangs her right fist on the floor.

"How can you be willing to raise another man's bastard child? A man who beat and raped this thing into me." Her voice rises in pitch and her body quakes with grief where she lies. Connor waits until some of her panting sobs subside before answering her.

"Whichever one it was, he is long dead from my blade. The seed he put in you is only that; a seed. You are the one who can make it grow into something good and kind." Connor takes her head in his hands and wipes her tears with his thumbs.

"Have you forgotten that I am a bastard? Does that make you think any less of me?" Catherine shakes her head.

"Please promise me you will _never_ try to kill yourself again." Catherine closes her eyes and nods, her lips trembling.

"Say it to me, WildCat."

"I promise." Connor exhales in relief and observes Catherine's face cradled in his hands. Tears continue to seep from her closed eyelids and she opens her mouth to take in a shaking breath. Leaning down, Connor brings his lips to Catherine's forehead and places a soft kiss just below her hairline. Her body stills and she breathes shallowly. Slowly, he moves his thumbs, wiping her tears from the sides of her face and kissing each of her closed eyes in turn, her salty tears wetting his lips. With gentle pressure, he tips her face back with his palms on her cheeks and lowers his mouth to hers. She passively lets him kiss her and though she does not return it, her lips become flushed and warm from his attention. Raising her hands to his elbows, she curls her fingers against his skin. Connor draws back and slides his hands down her upper arms. He whispers to her.

"Come here." She grips his elbows and he raises her from the floor, wrapping his arms around her body. Catherine rests her left cheek against his chest and her left hip against his. His right hand is low on her curving back and side, his palm, wrist and forearm resting against her exposed skin. The unnatural smoothness of her long scar is beneath his fingers and he runs them along it. With his left hand, he rakes his fingers into her hair next to her face and holds her head pressed to his chest. Her hair is cool and damp from sweat and tears.

After Connor has held her for a long time, her trembling ceases and her heart starts to return to its normal pace, almost echoing the cadence of his against her ear. The familiar scent of his body is stronger than ever with her face pressed directly against his warm skin. It fills her nose and she breathes deeply of it, taking it in as an additional measure of comfort. Connor tugs the bottom of her crumpled shirt down and then runs his hand up her back. When he reaches her right shoulder, he gently pushes her away from him, tipping her head back with his left hand in her hair. At the same time, he lowers his face and presses his forehead against hers with his lips hovering so near her mouth, the warmth of them sends a thrill through her. While his earlier kiss had surprised her and left her unable to move, the proximity of his lips and the heat of them teasing her flesh has broken open a dam, releasing a flood of sensation that sends bolts of awareness coursing through her body, running down her limbs and settling in her most sensitive places. Her shirt seems to wisp against her nipples at every breath and the deepest muscles of her pelvis tighten, intensifying the thrumming between her legs. So heightened are her senses that even the silent breaths leaving Connor's nose as he waits close, so close, move like a feather over her lips.

Tightening her hands on his elbows, she opens her eyes. Connor's eyes are already open and he looks deeply into hers, asking with all the silent strength he can muster. A tremor runs through her under his amber gaze and she closes her eyes and raises her chin just enough to let his lips touch hers. His fingers travel farther into her hair and he breathes in through his nose as he gently kisses her soft lips. He strokes her shoulder and pulls back, brushing his lips over hers before retaking them in another slow kiss, trapping her bottom lip between his. A small noise escapes the back of her throat. Not wanting to move too fast, he draws away again, though he longs to carry her to the bed and spend hours bringing her to heights of pleasure she has never known before. He can almost picture her body beneath him, his hands lightly touching every inch of her; her tousled curls, the curve of her neck, the scars on her back, the intoxicating swells of her breasts, hips and buttocks, even her little feet. Every last bit of her is an enthralling delight. He wants all of her, to show her that he can love her and she has no need to fear that he will reject her or her baby.

Connor's eyes dart over Catherine's face and his breathing is much faster since he kissed her again. His hand caresses her shoulder and slides over her back in a random pattern of zig-zags and circles. The fingers of his left hand still reside in her hair, his thumb stroking the skin on her cheek from time to time. It is too much to bear; her body needs movement but she refuses to separate from him and the way he is making her feel. Her heart wants to burst from her chest with its incessant pounding and the frightening upheaval in her mind and body adding to its frantic rhythm. Moving her left hand up to his shoulder to grasp its muscled bulk, it is still not enough. Her fingers dig into his skin and Connor lowers his face to the left side of her neck, his lips touching off new and powerful bursts of heat that cause her to gasp in response. She can no longer remain still so she brings her right arm onto his neck and shifts her body closer, crossing her left knee over his legs. Connor moves his right hand across her back and bends his fingers over her hip, helping her move until she is straddling him. A groan rumbles in his chest and fades into an exhalation against her neck. His left hand slides from her hair and moves across her shoulders as his other conforms to the small of her back, both of them drawing her tightly to his body. Catherine clutches him, every muscle tight and unrelenting, quivering with the effort of containing the mass of swirling emotions that fill her to overflowing. She feels as if she will break into countless pieces if she stops holding on and a burning pain rises in her limbs the longer she maintains her strenuous embrace. If she can just cling tightly enough, long enough, maybe everything that is wrong all around her and within her will just disappear. A moan of effort and sadness is ripped from her and she digs her fingers into Connor's skin at the junction of his neck and shoulder. Connor holds her tighter still, his face pressed into her neck but no longer kissing it. The pain reaches an exquisite peak of searing agony and with a sob, Catherine slumps against Connor, panting and depleted. He continues to hold her, his arms crushing her body to his. Finally, the burning ebbs from her, taking with it the last clinging tendrils of doubt about her future with Connor. There can be no leaving now, no death to escape this life.

Considering the abrupt turn in their interaction, Connor finds himself grateful for his need to urinate keeping his arousal at bay. It would be embarrassing for him to be sporting an erection while Catherine tries her best to deal with her fluctuating emotional state. Her need for affection is staggering and he is disappointed that it so cruelly turned her awakening arousal into overwhelming anguish. His heart breaks for her as she continues to heave deep, shaking breaths in his arms, her face hot against his neck. A plan forms in his head as he strokes Catherine's back, her breathing slowing to a more normal rate and her hands relaxing against his shoulders. For several more minutes, she stays draped over him, silent, depleted and shrunken in his arms. She leans back from him and he supports her with his hands.

"Can you stand?" Catherine nods and they get up together, Connor's eyes never leaving her. He takes her by the hand and leads her toward the door. After pulling on his shirt and boots, he faces Catherine.

"Get your things on. I will be back." He leans down and kisses her forehead, running his hand over her cheek and touching his thumb to her lips before turning and going outside.

Catherine feels numb now that the tide of the morning's events has finished tumbling her head over heels and spitting her out. She is disoriented and confused, unable to decide if her life has taken a turn for the better or not. She is grateful that Connor is not angry or disgusted about her pregnancy. Far from being repelled by her condition, he had proceeded to kiss her and if not for her twisted reaction to it, he may have gone further. All that remains is her condition itself. It is still a future she does not want; the situation a fearful conundrum that he mind continues to repel. She dresses in a slow trance, the world seeming to move rapidly around her while her mind and body struggle to keep up. Connor's rapid footsteps on the porch partly break her from her daze. He opens the door and steps inside, reaching for his jacket. He puts it on and slings his belt around his waist, depositing his tomahawk in the loop on his right hip. The quiver goes on his back next, followed by his bow once he strings it against his leg. By the time he is done, Catherine is fully dressed for the outdoors and watching him silently.

Connor reaches his hand to Catherine and she takes it, following him to the door as he opens it. Outside, he watches as she breathes deeply. With a start, she notices that the chestnut horse is standing by the porch with his saddle blanket and a bridle on. He faces his former enclosure. When did Connor get the bridle from the storage room? Is she so lost in her mind that she did not notice him going to get it?

"Are we going on a trip?" Catherine feels stupid asking the question but her mind is still fuzzy.

"Just a short one. I want to show you something." He walks her over to the horse and lifts her up so she can get on. The feel of the horse beneath her is familiar and solid. She focuses on the shifting muscles of her legs as she uses them to balance and on the reins in her hands as they sing to her of every movement the horse makes. Connor jumps onto the horse and settles in behind her.

"We are going up there." He points to the top of the cliff far above the cabin and to their left. When he brings his arms around her waist he gives the horse a kick. Catherine steers the chestnut around the bridges and through the woods, retracing the path she had followed after rescuing the horse days before. Riding is soothing and the confusing buzz in Catherine's head diminishes, allowing her senses to sharpen. Filling her lungs with the cold, damp air, she takes note of all the sensations that had become blotted out by the overwhelming gloom that had descended on her so quickly; her hair moving against her skin in the wind, the warmth of the sun on her hands when they pass through patches of it among the trees, the smell of the moist earth and piney sap, the scree of hawks high in the air. She sits up straighter and takes it in, relishing it as if it were all new. Connor tightens his arms around her and kisses the top of her head. Had she really almost thrown this all away only a short time ago?

They turn when the sloping cliff meets the level they are on and start up the incline, passing the jagged bushes where the horse had been trapped. Trees close in to the cliff edge and they meander between them. The incline increases and Catherine lets the chestnut slow and pick his way carefully up it. As the ground starts to level out, the trees give way, affording them a wide view of the surrounding area. The river that crashes down the waterfall runs from between even steeper hills ahead of them and off in the distance. The rolling, snow covered landscape is dotted with black and grey swaths of trees and goes on as far as Catherine can see. She gives the chestnut his head and lets him ramble where he pleases, bringing her hands to Connor's and letting him cover them in his grasp.

"It's beautiful up here." Connor hugs her close and then raises his right hand to point towards the distant north-west.

"Do you see those two hills with the steep valley between them?" Catherine nods, picking out the hills far in the distance near the horizon of their view.

"On the other side the river widens out and becomes deeper. My people rebuilt our village on the sandy shores of it. I want to take you there. As soon as Sonehso:wa comes back, we can go."

"Would they like me?" He touches his face to her head and nods against it.

"I am sure of it, WildCat. You need to be around other people, other women. You have been too long without it." Catherine drops her head back against Connor's shoulder. The idea is appealing yet frightening. She will be a stranger among them. The chestnut shifts his hooves and Connor tightens his arms around Catherine's stomach, steadying her. She does not need it but she is grateful for his reassuring gesture.

"I think I would like that."


	11. Chapter 11

Anika

The rented house the Zenger's occupy is a small place that shares a wall with the building beside it. The ceilings are low and Sonehso:wa feels the need to duck his head, though Jacob is almost as tall as he and has no problem standing upright. Sonehso:wa forces himself to stand at his full height but still worries that he will knock his forehead on a lintel or door frame. A serious looking woman wearing a deep burgundy dress with many layers of ruffled fabric on the sleeves and neckline comes from another room and stops suddenly at the sight of a visitor in her house. Her dark brown hair is streaked heavily with grey and styled closely to her head in a mass of curls. She flashes a look at her husband with her dark eyes and he introduces her.

"Sonehso:wa, this is my wife, Frau Wilhemina Zenger. _Meine liebste_, this is a representative of Connor's."

"Welcome to our home." She smiles at Sonehso:wa kindly before continuing.

"It is not the _tallest_ home in New York, as you can see, but it is comfortable and you are welcome here. I am beginning to think there must be a height requirement to be an Assassin." Jacob clears his throat loudly and Wilhemina narrows her eyes at her husband.

"I am not here to kill anyone…" Sonehso:wa quickly interjects, raising his hands away from his body. Jacob sighs and Wilhemina covers her mouth with her hand.

At that moment, the front door bangs open and the stable boy runs in.

"Sorry I am late, mutti. Vati brought an Indian man… oh." Jacob acknowledges the boy with a wave of his hand.

"This young man is our son, Simon, whom you met earlier." He tousles the boy's curls and Simon ducks his head with an irritated noise and a grimace in the way of young men when they start growing out of parental shows of affection. He then approaches Sonehso:wa respectfully.

"Pleased to meet you, sir. You have a good horse. I made sure he had plenty of hay and fresh water and I rubbed him down from nose to hoof til he shone." Sonehso:wa smiles at the enthusiastic boy.

"Thank you, Simon. I am sure he will be content under your care." Jacob waits until the boy leaves the room to continue their conversation.

"Well, what's done is done. I was unsure if you were actually one of us or merely an associate of Connor's. He did not use the usual terminology in his letter when he referenced you so I did not make assumptions. From your reaction, it is clear that you are not. I hope you will excuse me if I do not go into any great detail. It is not my place to do so. But tell me, Sonehso:wa, what do you know of us?"

"Raton… Connor told me that you were the man to find here in New York. If I could not find you, I was to locate Jamie Colley." Jacob nods his head as Sonehso:wa speaks, his hand on his chin.

"He said you and Jamie are two of his contacts in this place and that you would help me locate Anika. Together we would decide what is to be done for her. He gave me his belt and said it is the symbol of his connection to you. He called it a 'Brotherhood.'" He takes the belt off and holds it up as he speaks for Wilhemina's benefit.

"He also said that others who are opposed to your group would recognize the symbol so I should keep it well hidden to avoid becoming involved in any unnecessary conflicts. He did not say more." When Sonehso:wa is finished, Jacob is silent for a long time. Wilhemina takes his arm and speaks quietly to him in a language Sonehso:wa cannot understand. Jacob shakes his head and she seems to disagree with him until Jacob makes a slashing gesture with his flattened hand. She subsides, irritated, and leaves the room with a loud rustle of her skirts.

"My wife seems to think it is my duty to inform you of more details regarding our Brotherhood. I have decided that if it becomes pertinent to what we are doing, I will tell you then. Again, you have my apologies for our secrecy, but it is a matter you should take up with Connor."

"I understand."

"You would do well to follow his advice on keeping that belt hidden." Sonehso:wa brings it around his waist and tucks it away.

"Come. Let us eat and then we will talk about things."

Dinner with the Zenger's is very different from the one Sonehso:wa experienced at the Young's in Albany. Wilhemina is polite but reserved, occasionally glancing across the table to her husband with a pleading look. When Jacob remains unmoved, her expression changes to burning irritation again. Jacob finally gives her a meaningful look indicating he is done having a silent argument across the table in front of a guest. During all this, Sonehso:wa is engaged in an animated conversation with Simon. It starts out innocently enough on the subject of identifying good quality horses and then turns into a discussion on the types of weapons Sonehso:wa's people use. By the time Jacob and Wilhemina have reached the end of their visual argument, Simon is voicing his next question, nearly trembling with excitement.

"Have you ever scalped anyone? I heard that Indians scalp the settlers out west. Connor said he's never done it but he isn't all Indian." Sonehso:wa laughs at his question but cuts short when Wilhemina stands up abruptly, her chair scraping the floor. Her face is thunderous.

"Simon! That is not an appropriate topic of conversation for the dinner table. It's not appropriate for any time in this house." Simon bows his head and stares at his empty plate.

"Sorry, mutti."

"And when did you ask Connor about such a… thing?"

"Last time he was here."

"We will talk about this later. You too." She directs her attention to her husband for the last part before gathering the plates up from the table and leaving the room. Jacob nods at his son.

"Go help your mutti, Simon. If you do, she might go easier on you."

"Yes, vati." Simon drags his feet as he leaves the table. Sonehso:wa tries to catch his eye but is not successful. He rather liked the child and thought his zeal was entertaining. Jacob sighs and runs a hand over his bald head before shaking his head at Sonehso:wa.

"Scalping... That boy will be the death of me. I apologize for his indiscretion." Sonehso:wa tries to stay neutral but is unable to contain his smirk. The men end up sharing a quiet laugh over the matter.

"So, I think the best thing would be to go to where Anika was spotted yesterday. Well, who we think Anika is. We can be fairly certain, as the man watching her is Sergio's. One of our men thwarted an attack on her yesterday by her follower by interrupting them in an alley as she walked back to her place of employment. The spy had her up against the wall and she was struggling. Our man asked if there was a problem and Anika ran away. No blows were exchanged but we have to use someone else now to keep an eye on her."

"That sounds like something a man employed by Sergio would do. They seem to enjoy abusing women from what little I know of them." Wilhemina comes back into the room with two glass tumblers, each a third full of golden brown liquid. She places one down in front of each man. As she starts to leave, Jacob takes her hand in his gently.

"I think you should stay. Our plans tomorrow include you." Wilhemina drops into the chair Simon had previously occupied across from Sonehso:wa and Jacob continues.

"Connor sent Sonehso:wa to find a certain woman named Anika, on behalf of a lady. We need you to talk to her tomorrow morning to confirm her identity. It would be the least suspicious if a woman approaches her." All signs of irritation leave Wilhemina's face and she leans forward nodding, her eyebrows knitted with concern. Sonehso:wa picks up his glass and observes its contents. It resembles the rum he had had but smells nothing like it. A smoky aroma emanates from the glass and he takes a small sip. It certainly burns like rum. After the initial acrid taste fades, he is left with a pleasant warmth on his tongue and the smokiness he had smelled lingers in flavor form. It reminds him of a slightly sweet campfire. He looks up as Jacob finishes speaking to his wife.

"Then I think it is decided. We confirm her identity and then you need to get her out of the city. Wilhemina, you will come with us tomorrow to the public well and if it is the right woman, ask her to meet you at your clothing shop after hours. There we will speak with her." He turns to Sonehso:wa, picking up his glass and taking a sip of his drink.

"Are you comfortable taking this woman with you?"

"I will do what I must to ensure her safety."

"Hopefully she will be at the well again, otherwise we will have to approach her at the house she is working at or wait another day." Wilhemina rises to her feet and kisses her husband's bald head before leaving. The men sit and quietly sip their drinks. With every sip, Sonehso:wa appreciates the flavor more and more.

"What is this?" he asks, tipping his glass against the surface of the table and watching the amber liquid leave subtle lines on the sides as it runs back down into the bottom. Jacob squints at him for a moment before answering, as if he should know.

"It's whiskey. The Scot down the street has family outside of the city who make it from corn. He always gives us some in return for the clothes my wife makes them. Connor and I always have some when he is here." Sonehso:wa remembers Isaac Young saying something about Ratonhnhake:ton liking whiskey. He can see why.

Sonehso:wa, Jacob and Wilhemina rise early the next morning and prepare to speak with Anika. Wilhemina agrees that she should be the only person in sight when Anika is approached. They walk to the public well and the two men take up a position next to a nearby market that affords them a wide view of the area. Wilhemina crosses the street and sits on a bench, pretending to read a newspaper. She keeps her scarf pulled up against the cold and her eyes only partly on the paper before her. Jacob nods and moves his hand in the direction of the well and she looks over to see who is there.

A young woman wearing a dark blue wool dress typically worn by women in servitude is approaching the well with a bucket in her hand. A grey shawl covers her shoulders, the ends tucked under her arms. The woman's back is to Wilhemina so she cannot see her face, but her long blonde hair is hanging down the back of her grey shawl and she has a pale blue kerchief tied around her head. Wilhemina rises from her seat, folding the newspaper under her arm. As she draws near the well, the young woman sets her bucket down and starts lowering the pail attached to the rope pully. When she hears footsteps, she turns quickly to see who is approaching her. Wilhemina almost stops in her tracks when she sees the girl's face. Anika. Why did the name not remind her? She has seen this girl before in her shop when she and her lady would come to check her stock. She is the maid of the murdered heiress to Parry Textiles. Even she had felt the shock of the terrible story surrounding that poor woman. The Martinez takeover of the business had caused an uproar when they had increased the cost of purchasing textiles from them. Catherine Parry, or, Martinez now, must be alive! Why didn't her husband say Catherine's name when he informed her that a lady was requesting Anika's safety?

Wilhemina decides to speak in German to Anika, as a man leans against the wall of a building not far away and appears to be loitering needlessly.

"Anika, dear, I haven't seen you since the tragedy that befell your lady." Anika's face relaxes when she recognizes her. She responds in German.

"Frau Zenger! I can't believe you remember me."

"Of course I remember you. I don't get to speak German with very many people here. Are you well, child?"

"As well as I can be under the circumstances. Once Cat was…gone, I was no longer needed in the Martinez household. Now I work for a different family as a laundress." Wilhemina picks up one of Anika's reddened and chapped hands in hers. They used to be as pale and soft as a wealthy woman's.

"My dear. You should have come to me. I could have managed to hire you on as a seamstress. Not for much money, I'm afraid, but you could have lived with us as family instead of a worker. It's such a tragedy what happened…" Anika shakes her head and her face falls.

"It was so sudden. I still can't believe it happened. Cat was like a sister to me and now she's just gone." Wilhemina steps close and takes the girl in her arms. She whispers in Anika's ear.

"Dear, listen to me. There are people following you and you are not safe. Come to my shop tonight after your duties are done and I will introduce you to my husband and a friend who can help you. Please come, it is very important. Do not tell anyone of the arrangement. Do you understand? Don't look around when I let go. You are being watched." She feels Anika's body stiffen and she nods against her shoulder. When she steps back, Wilhemina presses a hand to Anika's cheek and looks into her eyes.

"You _must_ come, child." She debates telling her that Catherine is alive, but refrains for safety's sake. Anika nods again and Wilhemina smiles at her before turning to leave the girl to her work.

Anika is stunned by the intensity of Frau Zenger's words. She has to use all of her willpower to refrain from looking around for whoever is following her. Could that man who accosted her in the alley be her follower? If so, she is lucky indeed that the other man happened to come along at that moment. She decides that she will no longer take that short cut no matter how tired her arms are from carrying buckets of water. Frau Zenger walks rapidly away from the public well and disappears around a corner. Two men stand by a general store, one a bald older man and the other an Indian with long black hair and a braid with feathers in it. A woman steps from the butcher shop across the street with a package in her hand and a few servants scurry along the street, some joining her at the well. She fills her bucket and turns to walk away, spotting another man leaning against a house, smoking. Who is watching her? She keeps her head down and walks back to the house as calmly as possible while thoughts spin in her head.

Jacob and Sonehso:wa watch discreetly as Wilhemina storms down the street. She turns a fiery glance on her husband as she passes. Jacob sees the question on Sonehso:wa's face and shrugs his shoulders.

"I will find out what I've done wrong when we speak later. Come. Let us take a different way to the shop so we do not arouse suspicion. The young woman is leaving the well now anyway. My wife embraced the girl familiarly so we will know more when we speak to her."

"She seems to fit the description Catherine gave well enough from what I can see." Sonehso:wa watches as Anika disappears onto another street and the men leave their position by the store. They walk along a wide street before turning onto a crossing main thoroughfare. Wilhemina's shop faces this road but Jacob leads them past and then cuts through an alley to approach the business from the back. Inside, Wilhemina is pacing. She wrenches the door from her husband's grasp and huffs as he and Sonehso:wa enter.

"Jacob! Why did you not tell me the lady is Catherine Parry? Why did you not say she's alive? I know that girl! I bought most of my textiles from her father the moment we started this shop. She and Anika used to come here together to check on my stock. I have been looking for a new supplier since the Martinez's took over the business and raised the prices."

"Woman, calm yourself. I felt it was better to not have more names known than necessary. So it seems we have found the right girl. Did you tell her what you figured out?"

"Of course not! But I did my best to encourage her to come here tonight. I think she will."

"Good. It's better that she knows you because she will trust you more than me or Sonehso:wa, here."

"Jacob, why is Anika being followed, and why doesn't Catherine just come home?"

"My dear, the Martinez's are Templar sympathizers. We have long suspected their involvement in the slave trade. It only took one legislator to vote no and foil John Jay's second attempt to free the slaves of New York in January."

"What does this have to do with Anika and Catherine Parry?

"That legislator was paid off and Martinez and his son needed an immediate source of money to do it. Catherine's fortune was an easy acquisition. With her father dead, Catherine was the only piece in the way. They are evil men and Catherine's murder was planned by them to get additional funding for their scheming. They must suspect that Catherine is not dead and are anticipating that she will attempt to contact Anika. That is why Catherine can't come home and why Anika is being watched. We need to get her out of the city. I hate having to involve you further in any of this, but it's necessary. I will not stand by and let them use another innocent woman for their corrupt gains. They must not be allowed to succeed. If we can take down enough of their plans and support, we may force them to reveal who they take their orders from within the hierarchy."

"Oh, Jacob. What terrible news! Of course I must help as much as I can." She takes her husband's hands in hers and Sonehso:wa looks to the side, shifting his feet. Wilhemina looks over at him.

"Sonehso:wa, you must take her safely away. She's a good girl and she doesn't deserve this. She will be so happy to learn that Catherine is alive. I only hope she will come to us tonight." Sonehso:wa nods and he and Jacob depart so Wilhemina can open her shop. Jacob turns to Sonehso:wa as they walk back to the house.

"We will have to prepare for your trip. I will see about finding another horse. It will take a couple days to get what supplies you will need. I hope that Anika will see reason and be ready to leave as soon as we need her to. If you would like to see the city, feel free, but just don't spend too much time in one place. Many don't take well to Indians here." Sonehso:wa nods, remembering the troublemaker in the general store the previous day.

"I will be cautious." The men part ways after agreeing to meet up at Wilhemina's shop when the sun is setting. Sonehso:wa thinks on what Jacob had called Catherine's husband and father in law. He wonders what "Templar sympathizers" are and if they are related to the faction Ratonhnhake:ton had mentioned that directly opposed his contacts. It would explain why Jacob is so determined to hinder the Martinez's efforts. He tips the belt buckle up and looks at it again. Once he returns to the cabin, he means to get answers from his friend.

The city is open before him so Sonehso:wa meanders through streets and alleys, watching the people move around him and taking in the sights, smells and sounds as they vary throughout the day. Some of the buildings here are colossal but what really captures his interest are the massive ships scattered out in the bay and tied up to the docks. He is used to traveling in canoes, the largest able to carry a few men at once. These ships are immense and tower over his head like the houses that fill the city. He wonders how they even move because of their size.

The temperature had dropped the night before and has remained low all day. In the early afternoon, the cloudy sky releases a steady snowfall. To stay warm, Sonehso:wa keeps moving, traversing a large portion of the city and waterfront. Eventually, he circles back from the southern side of the city and approaches the Zenger's neighborhood from the west. He takes his time traveling the short distance to Wilhemina's shop just as the sun is starting to set. He knows he is early so he takes a seat by the piers and watches the sun setting against the sea, the hulking forms of the ships in the harbor black against the snow-muted colors. As evening starts to darken the blaze of colors in the sky, he rises to his feet and starts walking down the street toward the shop.

Ahead of him, Sonehso:wa catches sight of Anika as she turns onto the main street from a smaller side road and head toward the shop. She holds her grey shawl tightly around her body and looks nervously from side to side. When she has passed beyond the road she came from, Sonehso:wa sees two men look around the edge of the building and watch her. Sonehso:wa slips into the shadows and moves silently closer to where they are standing.

"…we'll grab her when she leaves and get it out of her our own way." Their few words are all Sonehso:wa needs to hear to know that their original plan is unworkable now. He moves back the way he came and traverses around the area through back streets and alleyways as quickly as possible without arousing suspicion. At the stable he calls out for Simon. The boy appears from the back of the stable with a pail and a pitchfork in his hands. Sonehso:wa approaches his horse as he speaks to him.

"I need my things from the house. Get them for me quickly. My bag, bedroll and blanket are where I left them inside." The boy drops his tools and hurries into the house as Sonehso:wa puts the bridle on his horse and throws the riding blanket over his back, hurriedly tightening the strap around the horse's belly. Simon returns with the rolled up blanket and bedroll under his arms at a run, the bag bouncing on his side.

"Thank you, Simon. I must go," He secures his things and leads his horse to the door of the stable. He pauses and turns to face the back of the stable where a lantern hangs on a hook. Suspecting he will not see the boy again, he calls out to him.

"Simon! I have never scalped anyone." The boy's laughter follows him out into the night but the levity of the moment fades quickly as he jogs through the snowy smaller streets to the back of Wilhemina's shop, leading the grey horse. The night is dark and there are still enough people around that he does not have to use stealth to get close to the building unnoticed. He loops his horse's reins over a fence post and taps lightly on the back door. Jacob opens it and ushers him inside impatiently.

"Where have you been? I said meet at sunset, not night time." Anika and Wilhemina are standing next to each other, the older woman's arm around Anika's shoulders. Anika is holding her stomach with both hands and she looks up at Sonehso:wa with concern on her extraordinarily pretty face. She stands taller and leaves Wilhemina's side to approach Sonehso:wa. Looking up, she stares boldly into his eyes. Catherine's description of Anika is exact, including the scattered freckles across her cheeks and nose. The lanterns in the room make her light hair look almost white though he knows from earlier that it is cornsilk yellow. Her light eyes bore into his.

"I saw you this morning with Herr Zenger. Is it true what they told me? Cat is alive?" Her accent sounds similar to the Zenger's and though it is not as strong, it is still completely different from Catherine's. When she speaks, Soneshso:wa notices that one of her front teeth is slightly crooked, just as Catherine had said. In such a pretty face, the imperfection only serves as proof that she is indeed real and not a deity from the spirit realm. He wants to touch her just to be sure but keeps his hands to himself.

"She is alive. She speaks highly of you, Anika. And she misses you." Anika clutches her stomach tighter and breathes in deeply. Her brow furrows and her eyes shine as she looks back at Wilhemina. Sonehso:wa turns to Jacob.

"There is a problem. It is why I am late. I was almost here when I saw Anika come onto the street. Behind her were two men. They plan to ambush her when she leaves and take information from her by force. We must make our move tonight." Anika's expression crumples into a look of fear at Sonehso:wa's words. Wilhemina approaches her and takes her hands. Jacob shakes his head and scratches his mustache.

"That is a problem. I have arrangements to get another horse but it will take time. Anika, we had plans working to get you out of the city but it looks like we will have to move faster than I anticipated."

"Who are these people following me?" Anika's voice trembles and she swallows hard, her eyes moving from Jacob to Soneshso:wa and back again, all of her boldness gone. Jacob looks at Anika with sympathy on his face.

"They are Sergio Martinez's men. He must suspect that Catherine is alive and so he is using you as bait. You are not safe here. Now that we know you won't make it back tonight unharmed we need you to trust us and do as we say." Anika is shaking her head in frightened confusion. Jacob gestures to Sonehso:wa.

"Sonehso:wa will take you to Catherine and Connor, my contact, where you will be safe. But you need to leave with him tonight. Now."

"But… I have nothing with me…" Jacob interrupts her, shaking his head.

"That cannot be helped, Anika. This situation is too far out of control to allow any more time to pass."

"I have my horse here and ready." Jacob nods at Sonehso:wa's interjection and reaches toward Anika's elbow to guide her toward the door. She allows him to lead her, moving as if in a dream. Sonehso:wa has already opened the door and is walking outside to get on his horse. The snow has stopped falling outside but at the threshold, Anika clings to Wilhemina's hands and the woman makes a pained tsking sound in her throat and switches to German.

"Go with him, my dear girl. It's the only way for you to be safe. You need to trust us, please, and be strong. He will take you to Catherine." Anika throws her arms around Wilhemina and hugs her tightly. Her heart is racing as the older woman returns her embrace. She feels like she has regained a mother only to lose her moments later. Wilhemina gently disengages her arms and turns her toward the door Jacob is holding open. The Indian man is on his horse already and she turns to look back at the Zenger's as she crosses the space between the shop and the horse. A high pitched whistle comes from the blackness between two houses, followed by muffled footsteps running down the snowy alley on the other side of the house.

Jacob closes the door behind him, securing his wife inside the shop before drawing a knife from his belt. He gives Anika a gentle push toward Sonehso:wa before moving to block the man running from the alley. Sonehso:wa steers his horse towards Anika.

"Take my hand!" He leans down, lowering his hand to her and she grasps his arm. He starts to haul her up behind him but the man who whistled lunges from between the buildings and tackles Anika. She loses her grip on Sonehso:wa's arm as the weight of the man pulls her to the ground. He immediately stands back up, dragging her to her feet holding a fistful of her hair through her handkerchief. Anika tries to hold onto the man's hand to ease the pain but she can't help but cry out from his rough grip.

"Where do you think you are going? Hmm?" The man speaks close to her face, pulling her head back hard and watching as Sonehso:wa circles his horse clockwise around the two of them. Sonehso:wa has his wood and stone war club in his right hand and the man presses a knife to Anika's throat, turning them to keep Anika facing Sonehso:wa's weapon. The cold steel bites into her skin and a trickle of blood runs down her stretched neck, leaving an icy trail in its wake. The sounds of Jacob fighting at the entrance to the alley filter to the back yard behind the shop.

"Try anything and I will kill her, you filthy savage." The man spits into the snow. Sonehso:wa makes his horse rear in an attempt to throw the man off. The man pushes Anika forward to propel her out of Sonehso:wa's reach and Sonehso:wa uses the opening to swing his club in a wide arc, smashing it into the side of the man's head. The crushing impact is loud behind Anika and the man's blood spatters in the trampled new snow. He falls sideways behind her and she stumbles to her hands and knees, losing her balance as her feet are tangled between the man's crumpled form and his arms. Sonehso:wa turns the horse back, putting his club back on his belt. He leans to Anika again and she jumps to her feet and grabs his arm with both hands. This time Sonehso:wa pulls her up and she scrambles behind him on the horse, her skirts bunching up indecently to just below her knees.

"Hold on to me and do not let go!" Sonehso:wa yells. He takes her wrist and pulls it around his waist before grasping the reins with both hands. Anika wraps her other arm tightly around his waist and grips her wrists with her hands against his stomach, pressing her right cheek against Sonehso:wa's quiver on his back. He kicks the horse into a gallop and as they enter the street behind the shop, Jacob leaves the fallen body of the man he was fighting to chase a third man as he starts to dismount nearby. The man sees him coming and stays on his horse, deciding instead to chase Anika and Sonehso:wa by following them along the parallel road. Between houses, Anika catches flashes of him as he gains on them. Sonehso:wa's long black braid bounces against Anika's back as he swings the horse around people in the way on the slippery street. Despite holding on to Sonehso:wa's waist and gripping the horse with her knees, Anika's body jounces with the horse's wild galloping.

"There is a man on horseback chasing us!" Anika shouts into Sonehso:wa's shoulders. His body twists as he turns to look behind them and she matches his movement, staying pressed to him. His hair blows into Anika's face and obscures her view.

"He is on the next street, not behind us. I can see him through the houses." She takes one hand off his waist to point but Sonehso:wa catches her wrist and pulls it back to his stomach. When Sonehso:wa twists to look again, Anika turns her head the other way and the moonlight reveals a more open area ahead. They are moving away from the coast and the buildings are not so close together. Her heart races with fear that the man will catch up to them and pull her off of the horse so she tightens her grip around Sonehso:wa's waist. They emerge into the open area and Sonehso:wa drops the reins, sits up straight to pull his bow off his back and reaches for an arrow. He twists left in the saddle and draws back on the bow, the shaft of the arrow sliding along his index finger almost until the triangular arrowhead touches his knuckles. Anika twists with him, turning her head and looking down Sonehso:wa's straight left arm and past his hand gripping the bow tightly. Veins stand out on the back of his hand as he steadies his grip. The man following has gained even more on them. With Sonehso:wa twisted so far, Anika feels herself sliding off the side of the galloping horse as their pursuer starts whipping his mount to run faster behind them. Sonehso:wa notices her slipping and bends his leg back, hooking her stockinged calf with his foot and pressing it against the side of the horse, stopping her slide. The knots of the ties holding his leg wraps on dig into her flesh but Anika is grateful for the pain because she knows he has her tightly enough to keep her from falling.

Sonehso:wa takes a breath and time seems to slow down. His body moves naturally with the galloping horse beneath him and even with his leg and body in a strange position and some of his concentration is diverted to holding the woman on the horse behind him, he sees his target with perfect clarity. At the right moment, during the instant of stillness between the rise and fall of the horse's smooth, galloping gait, he releases the string and the arrow he holds near his right cheek. Simultaneously, he breathes out and the world seems to shift back into real time.

Anika watches the black-feathered arrow punch completely through their pursuer's throat, knocking him backwards off his horse. The man never releases the reins and the horse rears, screaming and sending bits of snow flying as it paws the air and starts to topple, unbalanced by its momentum. It falls on top of its rider, crushing him and breaking one of its legs as it goes down. Sonehso:wa faces forward, reaching behind and using his right hand against Anika's hip to push her back up into place before grabbing the reins where they bounce wildly behind the horse's stretched neck. He releases her pinned leg and slings his bow on his back with one arm, quickly taking the reins with both hands once more. Together they lean forward and Sonehso:wa yells strange words to their mount. The screaming of the suffering horse recedes in the distance as they reenter the street on the other side of the clearing.

Once outside the city limits, Sonehso:wa slows the horse to a canter and turns off the road where a stream crosses, keeping the horse's path in the water until they are well among the trees.

"Are you harmed, Anika?" She jumps, startled, when he addresses her.

"No, I don't think so. Just shaken up is all." Sonehso:wa lets the horse walk, speaking quiet words in a strange language to it as he reaches down and briefly strokes its sweaty neck. Anika trembles against him, the realization of what they had just survived taking over as her adrenaline wears off. She is still holding him tightly and he rests one hand on her arm lightly.

"You do not have to hold on like that anymore unless you think you might fall off." A hint of a smile is in his voice and Anika releases her grip on his waist and sits back. Suddenly she feels faint and her stomach churns.

"Let me down," Sonehso:wa stops the horse and reaches back to Anika. She takes his arm and slides off the horse, backing a step away before dropping to her hands and knees in the thin layer of snow. She is in the middle of the woods, alone with a strange Indian man, her very life in the hands of someone she has never met before. She has put her trust in the Zenger's word that this man will not harm her but she cannot help but doubt her safety now. They are far enough out of the city that few people, if anyone, would hear her scream. She tries to remember her history with Frau Zenger and her genuine concern for her. She would never send her off with someone if she thought he would harm her. Frau Zenger trusts this man, and she should too. Her dizziness passes as she takes deep, measured breaths and tries to calm her racing heart. Sonehso:wa dismounts, the beads on his clothing rattling, but he does not approach her. His legs are just within her view, the tops of his boots dusted with snow. The ties around his hide leg wraps at his ankles and just above and below his knees are decorated with tiny beads in a pattern of small, repeating diamonds. He shifts his feet and then squats down to look at her, his left arm raised where he holds the reins and his right arm resting on his knee. His hair hangs down in front of him, his crouched position making it dangle past his knees. He gestures with his right hand as he speaks.

"That did not go as we had planned. It was not supposed to be… like this." Sonehso:wa watches the woman kneeling in the snow. She is breathing in through her nose and exhaling out through her mouth, struggling to stay calm. Her kerchief is gone, her pale hair spreading down her back and spilling over her shoulder, the blue-white light of the moon making it shine. She looks up at him and the place where the man cut her with his knife has left a line of dark blood dried to her neck and smudged over the front of her throat.

"How was it supposed to be, then?" She sits back slowly onto her heels and squares her shoulders, watching him carefully.

"We were to travel on two horses, possibly even taking a ship to Albany to travel faster. From there we would have gone on horse the rest of the way."

"The rest of the way where?"

"To Ratonhnhake:ton's cabin where Catherine is. She is safe there and you will be too."

"I thought Herr Zenger said we were to go to Connor. Who is the other person you just spoke of?"

"Ratonhnhake:ton is his real Kanien'keha:ka name. Connor is his white name." Anika looks at Sonehso:wa doubtfully.

"How do I know you aren't lying to me? Cat has been dead… missing for over a month and a half now."

"I am not lying to you."

"I'm supposed to just take your word? Describe Cat."

"She has long, dark, curly hair and light skin. Blue eyes." He holds his hand up to just below the top of his shoulder, fingers extended and his palm facing the ground.

"This tall when I stand. She is a very pretty woman and she loves riding horses."

"The Zenger's could have told you… most of that." Sonehso:wa stares at her silently for a long time before answering. His long hair shifts against his chest in the wind.

"Catherine told me how you ripped your skirt when you were sixteen. If Jacob's wife had not known you, we were to use that to confirm your identity."

"What? Ripped my skirt? You mean that time at the tavern…" Sonehso:wa nods.

"The two of you had gotten drunk and you tore your dress sneaking back into the house."

"Oh, my God, you aren't lying. No one knows about that but us." Anika covers her face with her closed fists, momentarily feeling a rush of emotions overtaking her at the truth of Cat being alive. This is not the time for weeping! She heaves a sigh and then drops her hands to her sides, staring at Sonehso:wa as he patiently waits for her. Anika starts to stand and Sonehso:wa watches her, his face angling up as she gets to her feet. After only a moment, he stands as well and she is once again looking up at him. He seems to be about the same age as she, his skin unlined and his complexion smooth. Though he had killed the man who had grabbed her and the one who followed them, his face is not that of a violent person. His expression is calm and neutral and his features are darkly attractive. Anika had never spent so much time regarding the appearance of an Indian man before. He calmly watches her as she inspects him from head to toe, taking in his beaded tunic, many pieces of jewelry, hair, boots, weapons and woven wrap. Finally, she pulls her shawl tightly around her shoulders.

"Are you satisfied with me?" He offers a quirky smile and Anika is taken aback at his unexpected attempt at humor.

"Maybe… Tell me... What happened to Cat?" Sonehso:wa's face becomes solemn.

"I had hoped I would not be the one to tell you her story."

"Tell me, So… Sonay… what is your name again?"

"My name is Sonehso:wa. Catherine was taken by men who were hired by Sergio Martinez and his son. They wanted her money and they no longer needed Catherine once they had it. The men took her to a cabin far from here. There they were to kill her." Anika covers her mouth with her hand and shakes her head as he tells her.

"Oh, my darling Cat!"

"Ratonhnhake:ton, Connor, killed the men and took Catherine back with him to his camp. There he cared for her and treated her wounds. Her body is healing but her heart is still in pain. She worries for your safety most of all."

"Her wounds? How badly was she injured?" Anika's voice shakes. Sonehso:wa's face is grave.

"She was abused by the men."

"How badly? Please, I must know the truth of it before I see her!" It is obvious that Sonehso:wa is reluctant to go into detail. She meets his eyes with trepidation and waits.

"She was... raped… many times. They beat her, whipped her and cut her with a knife." He finishes the last part in a rush. Anika cries out and staggers back. Sonehso:wa steps toward her, dropping the reins, and takes her by her upper arms so she will not fall. Anika bunches her hands into fists and pushes them against his chest, turning her head aside to avoid his gaze and trying not to weep for her friend.

"She is healing, Anika. She is safe. Ratonhnhake:ton has been protecting her for three weeks now. When I left two weeks ago, she was able to walk unassisted and without much pain. The only marks I could see on her were a healing cut to her lip and some faded bruises on her neck and face." His voice is earnest and his sincerity impels her to face him as he continues.

"She is not disfigured or lame in any way. By the time we get to her, she will bear no sign of her ordeal. She is probably already free of any now." Anika nods and loosens her tightly clenched fists slightly, her eyes falling to the knife that is attached to a leather strap crossing his chest. His proximity and the way he is holding her is frightening despite his voice. If she moves her fingers just a little to the right she could take the handle of it easily but she would get a handful of his hair as well.

"We have a long way to go before it will be safe to stop this night. Are you ready to continue?" Anika nods and Sonehso:wa releases her arms and steps away, leaving her to return to the horse. He is saddened that she had been so resistant of his supportive hold on her.

"I suppose there will be militia looking for us after what happened back there." Sonehso:wa leaps up onto the horse and extends his arm to Anika. She hesitates for only a moment before she takes it and jumps as he pulls her up, straddling the horse easier than the last time. She pulls her skirts down as far as they will go over her legs, positions her shawl up over her head and loops the ends across her shoulders for warmth. Sonehso:wa waits until she places her arms loosely around his waist before urging the horse to walk again.

They ride for what seems like an eternity into the night, keeping off the main road and continuing to cut along narrow trails through the woods and between fields. Once the surge of energy wears off from the stress of their escape, exhaustion threatens to overwhelm Anika. She quietly talks to Sonehso:wa to try to stay awake.

"Who is this man that Cat is with?"

"He is from the Kanien'keha:ka tribe and a friend of mine. You have nothing to fear from him and neither does Cat. He is a good man."

"Why does he have two names?"

"He spent a lot of time before and during the war with white people. He took the name Connor to blend in better."

"How does an Indian blend with white people?"

"He is half white. His mother was Kanien'keha:ka and his father was from the place called England. Connor said he was told once that he could pass for Spanish or Italian descent, though all I see is Kanien'keha:ka."

Anika sighs and rests her forehead against Sonehso:wa's back. The steady, unchanging gait of the horse is relaxing and she finds herself fighting the pull of sleep. Anika is startled out of a doze with the cessation of movement. Sonehso:wa has stopped the horse beside a dense copse of evergreen trees. Her hands are warm and as soon as she moves them she realizes it is because Sonehso:wa is supporting them against his stomach with his left arm. When she pulls her arms out he lets go, his fingers sliding over the back of her right hand lightly. He dismounts and scouts around the entire area, leaving Anika sitting alone on the horse.

"This place seems like a good location to camp for the rest of the night. There is an area on the other side that is sheltered from the wind." He leads the horse around the back side of the trees and helps Anika down. While Sonehso:wa collects wood for a fire, she takes his bag, rolled up blanket and sleeping mat off the horse, realizing the full implications of not having any supplies for this trip. The night suddenly feels colder and she hopes the fire will be enough to keep her warm. Once the fire is going, Sonehso:wa stands up.

"I will find something for us to eat. I will not be far." He disappears into the darkness and Anika dusts some snow off of a nearby rock, wraps herself in Sonehso:wa's striped blanket and sits down. In a while he returns, preceded by the sound of his feet crunching through the snow. When he reaches the circle of light thrown out by the fire, he is carrying some small game with him. He rounds the fire to her side, sits down near her and begins skewering the animals on some branches to roast over the coals. The creatures appear to be a woodland rodent. Anika cringes inside but knows she is lucky that they have anything to eat at all. She is pleasantly surprised when the meat turns out to be juicy and flavorful, smoky from the fire and warming to her body.

"I never thought I would eat a squirrel in my life but it's better than I expected. Thank you."

"I am happy that you like it. We will probably eat a lot of them as we travel unless I can shoot something bigger. Maybe you will hate them by the time we get to the cabin." Anika smiles this time when he looks at her from the sides of his eyes. He is making an effort so she tries to make one as well. When they finish eating Sonehso:wa gets up to gather more wood for the fire. By the time he returns to her side Anika is yawning into her hands. Sonehso:wa unrolls his bedroll and sits on it, looking over at Anika as he takes off his quiver and leans it next to his club and bow within easy reach against a tree. He crosses his feet and rests his elbows on his bent knees, grasping one wrist with the other hand.

"This probably is not what you want to hear but we will be warmer if we lie together to sleep." Anika's eyes widen and she presses her lips in consternation. Sonehso:wa shrugs his shoulders and continues.

"If not, you have my blanket and I have the mat, so this night will be cold for both of us." He smiles wryly and lies back on the mat, twitching his wrap over his hands where they rest on his stomach, closing his eyes and crossing his ankles. Anika narrows her eyes at him.

"I see you think this is funny." He speaks into the night sky, keeping his eyes closed.

"It amuses me. I will not take advantage of you but if you do not believe me then neither of us will sleep well this night. Or you can trust me and we can have a chance of not being so tired we fall off the horse tomorrow. It is your choice." His tone is lighthearted yet truthful and Anika sees how foolish it would be to attempt a long journey in the winter without ever getting much sleep. She gets the feeling from the way he is lying there with such a deliberately blank expression that Sonehso:wa is restraining a stronger sense of humor for her sake. His sarcasm emboldens her and she stands up abruptly, looking down at him. He opens his eyes and she crosses her arms, pulling the blanket so tightly that it strains around her elbows.

"Well then, I guess we should stay warm, but I am warning you, I will _hurt_ you if you try _anything_." She glares in his direction darkly at the end of her declaration and Sonehso:wa's eyebrows raise in surprise at her unexpectedly tart retort. He holds both hands up, palms out to her.

"I believe you. If you are anything like Catherine, you will not hesitate to defend yourself." He moves over to the right so there is slightly more room on the mat beside him and pats the surface, looking up at her with a disarmingly crooked half-smile. Anika steps over and kneels next to him. He moves his arm up and away from his body and she pauses, considering whether she should face him or turn her back to him. She lies down on her right side facing him, positions the blanket over them both and rests her head cautiously on his shoulder. Sonehso:wa brings his arm against her back and places his hand lightly on her waist. Anika instantly feels the warmth of his arm but it is as if he has taken possession of her. In an attempt to endure the situation at least for a little longer, she situates her left arm on his chest, resting her hand near her face. Sonehso:wa exerts gentle pressure on her waist with his hand, tipping her body so she is lying against his torso. He pulls the blanket up higher over them and then moves his right arm under it to rest his hand on Anika's forearm lying across his chest.

"Comfortable?" Anika moves her hand over slightly, controlling her nervous breathing made worse by the way his hand encircles her arm in an even further possessive gesture.

"Now I am," Sonehso:wa laughs as she grips the handle of his knife below his shoulder. He settles his head back with a smile on his face, giving her elbow a light squeeze with his hand.

"You are truly a sister to Catherine," Anika feels strange in such an intimate position with a man. The only people she had ever slept with in the same bed was her younger sister Sabine, one of the other laundresses at her recent place of employment who tossed and kicked ceaselessly and Cat. She forces her body to relax one area at a time. Sonehso:wa's steady heart beat and breathing fill her right ear as her body becomes much warmer. He had been right. His face is turned away from her and she finds herself staring at the long, raised muscle in his neck that spans from the side of his jaw to where his collar bones meet on his chest. The light of the moon in the clearing sky reflects off his white necklace and beaded earring where it rests against the pulse in his neck. The woven fabric of his wrap is soft against her cheek and smells of fire smoke and the unfamiliar scent of his skin. Despite the awkward feelings that continue to whirl in her head and her uncertain grip on the knife, she falls asleep, only vaguely stirring to move her right arm from under her body during the night.

Anika feels herself shifting from deep sleep into semi-consciousness as her body moves. A hand on her wrist is placing her arm in front of her and then lifting her head gently. She cracks her eyes a fraction and watches as Sonehso:wa extracts his left arm from under her cheek, supporting her head carefully with his right hand. The morning light is just beginning to brighten and his frosty breath hazes in the air. Anika studies his face and the lines of his neck as he moves. His hair is long and shiny, hanging down to pool by his elbow on the mat. She can't believe she spent the night in the arms of this man. Before the events of the previous evening the very idea of it would have been scandalous, even more so because he is an Indian. Now that it has happened it doesn't seem so awful. He did nothing inappropriate to her. She opens her eyes fully and his dark eyes meet hers as he finishes lowering her head down.

"I was hoping you could fall back to sleep." Anika smiles. He had seen right through her pretense. His choice to not reveal that he knew she was faking sleep seems like a kind concession for her sake. He withdraws his hand from her head as she starts to sit up, moving it to her shoulder and helping her. Her body is sore from the hours of riding the night before and she groans in discomfort. The place on her neck where she was cut by the blade is tender and itchy where dried blood sticks on her skin and she touches it gingerly with her fingers. Sonehso:wa's eyes shift to her neck. When she looks at her hand there is a tiny smear of blood on her fingertips where a crust of blood cracked open from her movement.

"How does it look? It hurts a bit." Sonehso:wa tilts his head and leans closer to look at her cut, tipping her chin back slightly with his hand. He draws back again after assessing her injury, sitting on his heels.

"It could use cleaning but it is a shallow wound." He gets up and squats by the fire, using a stick to stir the embers. Anika leans over, takes up a small amount of snow in her hand and holds it to her neck. Sonehso:wa places a few small branches on the faded embers. They start to crackle and Anika looks up from her crouched position. The yellow rays of the morning sun catch her eyes and they light up with a green so verdant that it mocks the bleakness of the winter landscape surrounding them. Some of her golden hair has slipped over her shoulders. He has never seen hair that color before and it fascinates him; he wishes he could touch it now in the light. Catherine had vastly understated her friend's beauty. She is of average height and slender, her full breasts covered modestly by a dark blue dress that buttons up the front with many small, black buttons. But her face… it is astoundingly beautiful. Anika looks back down at the ground in front of her and drops the icy bit of partially melted snow from her fingers. She rubs at her neck, cleaning off the dried blood and carefully working up to the actual cut. Her lips are parted in concentration, their rosy color only slightly deeper than the pink that touches her cheeks. Dipping her fingers periodically into the snow to renew her washing water, she manages to clean the cut sufficiently. Her fingers are red with cold by the time she finishes and she reaches her hand out to the warm embers and burning twigs before getting up. She wanders away from the fire and out of sight behind some trees deeper in the forest.

While she is gone, Sonehso:wa rolls up the blanket and mat and fastens them to the horse's back, tying his bag on top. When Anika returns he has put his weapons back on and is kicking the fire apart and pushing snow over the embers. Anika's hair is pulled back from her face into a loose braid that starts at the top of her head and hangs down her back. It is tied at the bottom with a small piece of string. The sections she has pulled into the braid from the sides reveal slightly darker hair underneath, accentuating the lighter color even more.

"Are you ready to go?" Sonehso:wa asks her.

"Yes." She watches as he leaps up, easily swinging his long legs astride the horse's back. He pulls her up behind him and she rests her hands low on his waist after tugging her skirts to cover herself as much as possible.

They ride through the morning and past the sun's weak zenith, eating a small meal as they ride of cold left over squirrel. After a time Sonehso:wa dismounts, lifting his leg over the neck of the horse and jumping to the ground while it is still walking. He offers the reins to Anika so she scoots forward to take them and Sonehso:wa walks beside her. It is strange to not have a side saddle with places to rest her feet and Anika feels somewhat unsteady this way. She used to make fun of Catherine and her divided riding skirts she used to make for herself, telling her she rode like a man. Now she regrets every mocking word she ever said to her best friend.

"We should let the horse have a break. He is not used to carrying two people and we have a long way to go."

"How long did it take you to get to New York?"

"I travelled for thirteen days. We cannot push as hard on the way back but we can make up time by staying off the winding roads." Anika's eyebrows raise. Two weeks travelling alone with this man?

"Thirteen days? How far beyond Albany are we going?"

"At least eight days north and west of there." Anika is quiet as she thinks about the path that lies before them.

"Why was Cat taken so far away?"

"I do not know."

"It must have been hell… the travelling, the place they held her… what they did to her…" Anika shakes her head.

"Try not to think of it."

"How did your friend find her?"

"He was hunting near where they held her captive. She was… screaming." He sighs and looks up at Anika's face. She is staring into the distance, her forehead creased with distress and she chews on her trembling bottom lip. Sonehso:wa cannot bear to see her beauty marred by such sadness.

"You should try to stop thinking about what happened to her. It cannot be changed. The only thing that matters is that she is safe now." Anika looks away and nods, her lips drawn together tightly. Sonehso:wa raises his arm and takes her forearm in his hand. She gasps, jerking her arm away and looking down at him. He looks with concern at her and keeps his hand up toward her, slowly nodding his head once in a silent bid to take her hand. She slowly releases the reins and cautiously lowers her arm, allowing him to move his hand to her hers and hold it. Sonehso:wa cradles her hand in his, looking at her small, curled fingers tucked against his palm, the back of his hand resting against Anika's leg.

"You and Catherine have known each other for a long time?" Anika turns her head to look at Sonehso:wa when he changes the subject. He has his face angled up to her and the sun reveals a diffuse, red-gold tinge and nearly black flecks scattered in his irises. They are rather startling since at first they had appeared to be just a dark brown color.

"Yes. Since I was about thirteen. Her father hired me as her lady's maid, though we mostly just acted like sisters. I believe Herr Parry viewed me as a second daughter. He spoiled me as much as he spoiled Cat. After my family died, Cat and her father became my family in truth to me."

"I am sorry your family died… I see now why you and Catherine are so close."

"It was a long time ago. I will miss them for as long as I live but Cat has helped ease the pain." Sonehso:wa nods in empathy. They are silent for a while until Sonehso:wa changes the topic.

"You always call her Cat. Ratonhnhake:ton and I called her WildCat sometimes." Anika raises her eyebrow at Sonehso:wa and he explains.

"She has a strong spirit. She tried to kill me the first time I met her. Like a threatened wildcat." Anika turns her head slightly and squints at him. Her hand twitches in his and he releases it.

"That doesn't sound like Cat at all. She can be headstrong at times, but she would never try to kill someone." Sonehso:wa laughs and shakes his head.

"I know that now, but she thought I was there to hurt her. She threw Ratonhnhake:ton's tomahawk at me. It was close, but I escaped in time to save my head." He points at his forehead, looking up at her with a grin as he finishes and Anika smiles at his gesture.

"What did you do that made her think you were such a threat?"

"I showed up at the cabin when she was alone shortly after Ratonhnhake:ton took her in. She asked me to get out and said her husband would be back soon but when I told her I knew Ratonhnhake:ton was not married she got very upset. She then demanded that I leave, holding the tomahawk out and I did not do it fast enough. So she threw it. If I had not been near the door, I might not be here today. When I met Ratonhnhake:ton coming up the path as I ran for my life, I asked him why he had a wildcat in his camp. I think she likes being called that." Anika laughs in shocked amusement and Sonehso:wa joins in as he remembers. When they stop laughing, Anika looks intently at Sonehso:wa.

"I can't tell you how happy I am that she's alive. When she first disappeared, it was awful, just awful. I cried for days and blamed myself for not being with her. Sergio dismissed me from service only days later. And then Frau Zenger shows up, and everything I thought I knew was turned upside down. I can't believe that just one day ago my life was going completely differently. Even though this," she makes a sweeping gesture that encompasses both of them and the surrounding forest, "is not where I would ever have expected to be today, knowing that Cat is alive and that I'll see her again makes me able to bear anything."

"Even me?" Sonehso:wa says with exaggerated wonderment, gesturing at himself with both hands pointed at his chest and his eyebrows raised, an enormous smile across his face. Anika laughs easily again.

"Even you, yes." They pass on in silence. Sonehso:wa unslings his bow at one point and signals for Anika to continue on before slipping silently between the trees. He is gone from her side for some time before returning to her carrying a gutted hare which he ties to the side of the horse. He cleans his hands in the snow and jumps up behind Anika. His body is pressed up against her for a moment until he settles himself back and Anika is unsure of how she feels about his nearness. She had been feeling nervous about being alone in the wilderness while he had been gone, but the necessity of so much touching between them is intimidating.

"You were gone for a long time. I was starting to wonder how you would find me again."

"I was never very far. I found you easily; you do not have to worry about me losing you when I hunt."

"I was looking forward to squirrels for dinner again, you know." Anika turns slightly back so she can see Sonehso:wa's amused reaction. The wind blows a section of Anika's hair that had slipped from her braid. It tickles her face and she shakes her head slightly and blows it off of her lips.

"I will be sure to hunt some again for you soon. Maybe tomorrow." He reaches up and captures the errant strands of soft hair between his fingers and loops them behind Anika's ear. His hand is warm as it brushes lightly against her cheek, ear and neck and she is more acutely aware of his presence behind her. His touch was both casual and extremely intimate and she blushes at his contact. She lowers her face, hoping the way they are sitting prevents him from seeing her rising color.

Sonehso:wa does notice her blush. The color flushes even the back of her neck and he wants to wrap his arms around her and feel the heat of it against his face. He finds himself unable to stop looking forward to the approaching night when she will once again be against his body and he will not have to create a reason to touch her. Pretty girls have always driven him to flirt and do his best to make them laugh. It usually leads to them wanting to spend… time… with him. At the very least he often gets a few kisses from them. The thought of many more nights ahead with Anika helps temper his desire to touch her further. For now he satisfies himself with the way her hair felt as he tucked it behind her ear, the incredibly fine hairs slipping between his fingers like a downy feather.

The sun is close to setting and the temperature is dropping. Anika pulls her shawl up one side at a time to keep her hands on the reins and Sonehso:wa sees her trying to adjust it around herself better. He leans forward and takes the reins from her hands, partially embracing her at the same time. She loops her shawl up over her head for warmth.

"Thank you. I was getting cold." She reaches for the reins again and Sonehso:wa takes one of her hands in his and removes her fingers from the reins, bringing her arm to her stomach.

"Just stay warm, I have them." Anika leans her body back against his chest and folds her arms under her shawl, grateful for the added warmth of Sonehso:wa's solid presence. She does not see the way he looks down at her face, admiring her beauty as she settles herself comfortably against him.

Anika unbraids her hair that night beside the fire and combs her fingers through the length of it. Sonehso:wa watches her from the sides of his eyes as he adjusts the hare near the coals, trying not to be obvious in his interest. Her hair is a thick wall of gold that she rakes her fingers though, impatiently tugging at knots from the wind blowing it around. She wiggles her fingers over the fire, discarding fine strands that disappear in an instant. When she is satisfied with the state of her hair, she leaves it pulled over one shoulder, the cascade pouring out from under her shawl after she covers her head with it.

After eating, it is so cold that Sonehso:wa lies down on the mat and tugs on the corner of the blanket Anika has wrapped around her. She carefully settles herself against him the same way as the previous night, only this time she does not take the handle of his knife in her hand. Instead, she places her hand near his neck and touches his necklace. Sonehso:wa moves his hand to her upper arm outside the blanket and his thumb brushes over her hair. He cannot help taking a section of it in his hand and sliding his fingers down the length of it, gently pulling the bottom out from where it is trapped between their bodies. He reaches to the top of the section near Anika's face and slides his fingers down again, slower this time, watching the firelight reflect off the color as it curves over his fingers. Anika watches Sonehso:wa's eyes as he plays with her hair.

"It's not going to change, no matter how much you touch it."

"Why should I wish this to change?"

"It's so straight and boring. I always wanted Cat's curls."

"I like your hair better than hers, Jitkwa:'e."

"What is Jitkwa:'e?" She stumbles over the word.

"It means yellow in Ogwehoweh, the language of my people, the Onondowaga. You should like your hair. It is beautiful."

"Now you're just saying things..." Anika smiles, shamelessly encouraging him to keep complimenting her.

"No. I have never seen hair this color on anyone. It is as yellow as ripe summer corn." He loops it around his fingers and turns it to catch the light from the fire. Anika moves her hand from Sonehso:wa's necklace and picks up his braid from where it lies next to his head. She pulls it over his shoulder and holds it up in front of their view. The feather on the end dangles over the back of her hand.

"I've never seen a man with such long hair, or who wears a braid." She lays the braid down on his chest and tucks her hand back under the edge of the blanket.

"It is common among my people."

"So is blonde hair among mine. My brother and sister had hair like me, as well as my mother." She heaves a deep sigh and shifts her head against his shoulder, tucking her hand closer to her neck under her chin. Sonehso:wa lowers his hand, still holding her hair, onto his stomach. She does not speak again and he hears her breathing settle into the same deep rhythm of the night before as her body relaxes against him. He lifts her hair in the moonlight and loops it over his fingers. It is soft and shiny and he watches as it slides out of his grasp when he releases it, falling onto his chest in a soft cascade. He thinks Anika with her so-called common yellow hair is one of the most beautiful sights he has ever beheld. Sonehso:wa moves his arm under the blanket and rests his hand on Anika's elbow. He falls asleep thinking about her.


	12. Chapter 12

Integrity

The days following Catherine's reveal of her pregnancy are difficult. Mornings are still begun with her running to the porch. Often she does not actually vomit when the cold air helps calm her stomach. Connor always joins her, keeping her hair back for her and holding her in the aftermath or simply standing watch at the door, still afraid she will sink dangerously close to that black precipice of despair again. The nights when she weeps for her future are harder. She does her best to muffle her sorrow but she knows Connor is awake, listening to her from his place by the fire. There is nothing he can do to change the inevitable birth of this baby, so she still does her best to contain her misery when he is nearby. The daytime hours afford Catherine the brightest spots of happiness. Connor starts teaching her how to throw the tomahawk with accuracy and encourages her to continue her practice with the bow. She creates a hide bracer for her arm so the bow string no longer harms her when she grows tired from shooting, allowing her to continue for longer. Just as Connor had predicted, her accuracy improves faster than she thought possible once she learns the behavior and trajectory of the arrows as they are released. When she compensates for the arc her arrows hit her targets more often than not and she has taken to finding smaller and more distant targets to challenge herself, much to Connor's quiet entertainment.

Connor leaves the bow and quiver with her when he hunts, preferring to set snares and trap if it gives Catherine something to occupy her mind and keep her from slipping away to a dark place. On good days, she smiles and laughs, becoming animated and sharing in both ordinary and entertaining banter with Connor. Sometimes he manages to steal a kiss or two from her. Other days, she is quiet and withdrawn, her thoughts turned inward. On occasion she becomes irritable during throwing practice and Connor has difficulty keeping his own temper in check when she shoves his tomahawk into his hands and storms away, once even calling it a useless piece of rubbish. That time, she had galloped away on the chestnut horse and Connor had paced and railed for over an hour, kicking over stacks of wood and irately slamming the pieces back into place until she came back and tearfully apologized. He had been so relieved he had taken her in his arms and held her, his anger forgotten, not caring about her insult to his precious weapon because she had come back to him safely.

The worst days are when she crawls back into bed in the morning and will not rise. She has only had one of them since the day before she tried to kill herself and Connor had spent time outside, chopping wood to keep his nervous anxiety under control by expending his energy on something productive. Several hours later, with a broken blister on his palm and more wood than they could burn in a month added to the stacks spread around the cabin, he had finally tired of the chore and managed to settle his mind.

Waiting for Sonehso:wa to return with news about Anika is wearing on them both and Connor reflects on why he did not use the more efficient method of communication he has available to him. It would have involved traveling to his village and since it is not strictly Brotherhood business, he had hesitated to employ it. It is too late to rectify, as Sonehso:wa must be in New York by now. Maybe he is even on his way back.

It is a bad day for Catherine and she is a quiet bump under the covers of the bed in the shadowy rear of the cabin. Somehow, she seems to have grown thinner over the past two weeks, if that is even possible. She was far too thin when he found her but her pregnancy sickness has taken an additional and heavy toll on her body. Added to her melancholy, she seems to be dwindling before his eyes. Connor stops at the door, his original plan to hunt extra early feeling pointless this day. He lifts his hand and rubs the back of his neck with a grimace before taking off his bow and unstringing it, setting it down and dropping his quiver beside it, careless of the arrows rattling together loudly. Catherine stirs in the bed and Connor watches her shift her legs up tighter to her chest under the covers as he strips off his belt, jacket and boots, returning them to their places. He walks over to the right side of the bed and pauses. With a shrug of his shoulders he makes up his mind and taking off his shirt, crawls into the bed next to Catherine, rolling to his side and looping his left arm around her curled body. He wiggles closer until the front of him conforms to the shape of her back and he gathers her in to him. He knows he will not be able to sleep but he doesn't care. His mind would have been here anyway if he had gone hunting.

Connor's body is warm as it surrounds her and Catherine, though surprised that he has climbed into bed with her, doesn't mind the intrusion as much as she would have thought. He has been so kind and long suffering with her and her unpredictable mood swings. She wonders why he tries so hard. All she has been lately is a sick, miserable shrew of a woman, the monotony of it broken by crying jags. How unappealing. It is a wonder he doesn't stay out hunting from dawn to dusk just for some peace. Connor says nothing as he lies with her but he finds her hand and threads his fingers between hers. She sighs at his show of affection and once more wonders how he could possibly want to be near her when she's like this. To her extreme dismay, tears start stinging her eyes and her frustration for being so weak adds to them. She tries shaking her hand out of Connor's grasp to move away from him but he tightens his arm around her and tucks his body closer. His persistence makes a quiet sob catch in her throat.

"Sshh, WildCat. I am not letting you go so easily." He whispers into her ear and his words only hurt worse for his caring. When he plants a kiss on the nape of her neck, her teeth chatter with the force of her grief and she is no longer able to contain her tears. Not since the day she realized she was pregnant had such a torrent of sorrow broken itself from her. Her grief takes on a life of its own, her body shaking uncontrollably as it flays away any protective buffer she had managed to hold onto. Connor holds her as she sobs, wrapping both his arms and then his legs around her tightly and whispering words she cannot understand into her hair. When her remaining energy is finally spent, she lies limp in his embrace, the last vestiges of her pain draining away in the dizzy euphoria of total exhaustion.

Connor is unsettled by the intensity of her chronic sadness and worries that it will overtake her more and more. If she faces at least seven more months of this he wonders how she will even survive. He fervently hopes Sonehso:wa returns soon and debates if it is worth waiting any longer to take Catherine to his village. Sonehso:wa would find the cabin empty and simply continue on to the village. The women there would know better how to help Catherine but what would days of riding and sleeping outdoors do to her? Would it make her worse? Connor knows little of pregnancy and what it entails; it is women's business. His only direct experiences with it were his brief interactions with Prudence in Davenport and recently, the knowledge of and seeing a woman being pregnant at his village. There, he was even farther removed from what was involved since it was another man's wife and she lived in a different longhouse entirely. The whole process is rather frightens him, especially after Connor had seen how much pain Prudence had endured when birthing her son. He will never forget her screams; even when he had gone beyond sight of where she lay, flanked by her husband and Dr. White, the sound of them had followed him. He had returned when the baby's tiny cries replaced her screaming and he had been shocked to see the amount of gore associated with childbirth, yet Prudence was smiling and happy, her pain already forgotten as she and Warren stared at their new baby. Connor's line of thought is interrupted when Catherine moves, turning to lie on her other side and face him. Their noses are only a few inches apart. He looks into her tired eyes and reaches for her arm, sliding his fingers down it and she closes her eyes, breathing deeply.

Now that such a raging river of anguish has passed through her, Catherine feels stripped down, faded and hollow. She surrenders recklessly to Connor's touch on her arm, allowing herself to only feel his fingers at their precise points of contact. Connor barely uses any pressure at all, the creases in her sleeve causing his fingers to bump their way over them. As he curves around her arm and traces his fingers up the back side of it, a pleasant chill causes her to shudder and inhale. His fingers pause in their circuit of her arm and she opens her eyes. He's watching her, his pupils almost fully dilated and black in the semi-darkness of the early morning. Always, his gentle caresses and soft kisses speak of a deeper desire for much more and slowly she has become more receptive to his touch. Her body seems to understand what it wants more than her mind is willing to allow and the two halves of her psyche do battle every time Connor touches or kisses her. This time there is no battle. Her mind has given up, leaving her unprotected and exposed. Burn the consequences; does anything really matter anymore?

"I was worried about you." Connor says, keeping his voice low. Catherine knows very well that he constantly frets about her, not understanding what he sees in her. Still, his compassion is sweet and she wants him to stop worrying so much.

"I'm feeling better now." The lie slips from her too easily.

"You are?" He raises his eyebrows in surprise. The eager hope that fills his eyes fuels Catherine's carelessness.

"Aye, Captain." Her address makes Connor smile. He had told her about some of his adventures on the Aquila one day and she had sassily called him Captain to make fun of him. On her better days, she would rebelliously toss the title at him whenever he gave her corrective criticism during her training. _Yes, Captain… Of course you are correct, Captain…_For her to call him that now lends credence to how she feels. Maybe it had been a good thing for her to have broken down like that instead of trying to hold it all inside.

Catherine reaches over and picks up his beaded braid between the second and third fingers of her right hand, moves it off his cheek and tucks it behind his ear, resting her palm against the edge of his jaw afterwards. Connor turns his head and kisses her wrist, keeping his eyes trained on her face. She looks tired and so… haunted… yet he cannot help wanting to continue in this vein. Lying in the bed with her is far more provocative than sitting or standing in an embrace. Even thinking about them lying together is arousing. Trying not to analyze it too much, Connor resumes the movement of his hand on her arm. Catherine closes her eyes and relaxes her arm down to the bed, her hand trailing off his jaw and lying softly curled against his chest. When he reaches her shoulder he runs his hand onto it and then follows the slope of her body down her right side. As he moves toward her waist, he drags the blanket down with his fingers, reaching the lowest point of her curve and starting up towards her hip. Between the slow uncovering of her shape and Catherine's quiet bursts of breath in reaction to his touch, Connor quickly becomes more than just mildly aroused. Reaching the apex of her hip and starting back down to the dip of her waist, he trails his fingers even slower, moving up her side, over her shoulder and onto her neck. Her breathing becomes even more erratic as he curves his path down under her jaw and onto the front of her throat.

Unable to keep his mouth from her any longer, Connor leans close, brushing his fingers back over her neck and shoulder. Resting his hand on her waist, he kisses her forehead just between her eyebrows. Catherine raises her right hand to the side of his neck and Connor has to restrain his amorous enthusiasm. He lifts his body slightly, leaning on his right arm, and lowers his mouth to her lips. They are soft, as always when he gets to feel them against his, but this time it is different. There is a new kind of softness that is unrelated to the texture of her skin. It is more of a giving-in to his kiss. He opens his mouth, taking just a tiny bit more of her lips with his. Her fingers twitch on his neck and she reaches further back under his hair.

Catherine is lost. She wants more of what Connor is giving, oh, so much more. Her body is on fire everywhere but nowhere else is as molten as between her legs. She squeezes her thighs together and the feeling is amplified many times over. Connor's lips are warm and his kisses are driving her wild with need. He leaves her mouth and she gasps for air, her eyes opening to the sight of his face barely separated from hers, his eyes roving over each of her features in turn. His left hand tightens on her waist and Catherine almost whimpers but it comes out as just another exhalation. She squeezes the back of Connor's right arm just below his shoulder and falls onto her back on the bed. His hand slides down, closing over the top crest of her pelvic bone and he pulls her body closer to him.

Her body tenses and Connor stops. The hard line of her hip bone is under his hand and his palm burns to feel it through her bare skin rather than her pants. The slightest tremble is detectible running through her body and Connor fears his action may have been too aggressive. The longer they stay still looking at each other, the more convinced he is that she is afraid of what he will do to her. Connor moves his hand away from her hip and as he does, his thumb catches the bottom of her shirt and brushes against the smooth skin of her stomach, making her gasp before he can pull away.

"Sorry," Connor whispers, but Catherine pulls on his neck and he finds himself trapped in her arms, her right hand in his hair and her fingers pulling it as he tries not to let his lust take over. She kisses him almost frantically, straining her body upwards. Something tells him this is too much, that she is not really ready for this. Forward behavior is not typical of her at all. It is always he who kisses her. The only thing she has ever actively sought out is hugging. He pushes against the mattress and tries to draw away but she cries out against his mouth and pulls harder on his hair and shoulder. Connor groans and relents, meeting her lips harder than he intends. She responds by opening her mouth to him and he cannot resist having his first taste of her. Catherine moans when he integrates his tongue into their kissing, flitting it along the underside of her top lip and just inside her mouth for just a few kisses and then delving deeper for more. When he stops to give them both a moment to catch their breath, Catherine lets her head fall back, exposing her neck to him prettily. Kissing his way along her jaw to her neck, he tastes the sweet-salt of her skin and feels the next cry that escapes her throat vibrate against his mouth. As slowly as he can, he draws an arc with his lips and tongue down the side of her neck and over the front towards the junction of her collarbones. His erection throbs almost painfully in response to her throaty gasps and he shifts his body until he is on his knees straddling one of her legs. He slides his left hand up her ribcage until his fingers barely graze the bottom swell of her right breast, the skin of it firm, yet yielding delightfully under the gentle pressure of his thumb. He wishes her shirt were not in the way so he can feel the soft warmth of her skin and taste it all. The new position of his legs releases some of the aching pressure in his groin and he regains momentary control of himself.

What is he doing? He has no excuse for this, taking advantage of Catherine's emotionally fractured state and letting her confuse sex with comfort. Sex is not what she needs right now. Connor pulls back from Catherine's neck and takes her right forearm in his left hand. He tugs against her grip on his hair and she opens her eyes and lets him untangle her fingers. She is breathless and the light from the rising sun catches the wetness he left on her neck, making it shine. His eyes are drawn from her neck to her chest as it rises and falls below him. They fall on her breasts, lingering on her hard nipples barely concealed by her shirt and Connor wants to take them in his hands and caress them forever. He tears his eyes away and raises them once more to her face.

"I want to, WildCat." His voice is constricted and full of apology. The words he doesn't say make it clear he will not progress any farther. Catherine feels robbed. This was the first time she had fully banished her fear and allowed herself to become submerged in sensation but now doubt's sharp fingers are trying to regain their hold on her heart. Is this not what Connor has wanted for so long and what she has tried to want as well? Connor shifts his weight as he watches her and Catherine looks down her body. His knee is between her thighs just above her knees and when she follows his leg upwards his arousal is obvious. Had she really been ready to let him? The tight feeling in the deepest part of her stomach gives her her answer. How had he known what she had not? Was it merely his conscience strong-arming him into stopping? She turns her face away and sighs out her bitter regret, pulling her arm out of Connor's hand and letting it fall back onto the bed next to her head.

"It felt so good." Connor flinches at her innocent, whispered candor, knowing she had never experienced uninhibited pleasure before. There is no doubt in him that she was enjoying what they were doing on a physical level. So was he, but how badly would she be hurt emotionally if she were to regret allowing him to take her so impulsively? It would traumatize them both if she were to panic while he is inside of her. The sensitive nature of their predicament is as dangerous as an open flame in a powder house and it needs to be handled with the utmost caution and finesse.

"It would be wrong for me to take advantage of you." He knows his argument sounds weak and sanctimonious. Catherine doesn't look at or respond to him and the silence grows uncomfortable.

"I am sorry. I should not have gotten into bed with you." He starts to move from her side and Catherine grabs his arm, turning her head to face him. Her face is stricken with extreme anxiety.

"Don't leave! Please, don't leave me." Connor's carefully neutral expression disintegrates and he lowers himself down to lie on his back. How can he say no to her now? She edges closer and slumps against him, her right arm across his chest and her face on his shoulder. When she squeezes him in a half hug, restricted by their position on the bed, she hooks her right leg over his. Connor closes his eyes and flattens his palm on her lower back. Even her toes, curling against the inside of his calf, seem to cling desperately to him. He reaches up and slips his fingers into her curls, smoothing them back from her face and releasing a quaking sigh from her.

Connor stares at the ceiling for a long time while Catherine dozes against him. She is understandably confused about her future and she does not need him losing control of his desire for her adding to the muddle. Without any doubt, he knows he was right to stop her from killing herself but he cannot help thinking on days like today when she is so distanced from herself, that she is dying inside anyway even as a new life fills her belly. It is almost as if it is stealing away her will to thrive, using it to strengthen itself. He has tried to avoid talking about the pregnancy with her or allowing dispensation in her training, knowing that the last thing she wants is to be coddled and treated like an invalid. Maybe it is time to stop avoiding the subject. He clenches his teeth, knowing that she will be resistant to the idea. In time, he hopes she will be more willing to accept being a mother despite the child's progenitor. He reminds himself that her pain is still very fresh and strong enough to overpower the logical truth beneath the surface.

Catherine gets out of bed later in the day, hours after Connor extricates himself from her sleeping form. She spends time outside brushing the chestnut horse even though the temperature has grown cold again and snow dusts the ground once more. The repetitive chore is soothing and she applies herself to it with a will, for she is frightened by her behavior with Connor earlier. If he were any other man… Closing her eyes, she rests her forehead against the warm neck of the horse and silently thanks Connor for being his resolutely chivalrous self.

A short time later, the familiar sound of his footsteps crunch over the ground as he approaches. Catherine turns her head and watches as he walks toward her. There is something on his mind; his hunched shoulders always announce his preoccupation. It is as if his arms and hands are too heavy for him and he needs to use the muscles in his neck and shoulders to keep their weight from dragging him down. She can guess what it is that is bothering him but stays silent as he draws near. Fully expecting him to bring up her irresponsible behavior, she is surprised when he stands behind her, uses the backs of his fingers to move her hair over the front of her right shoulder and then brings his arms around her waist. He lowers his face and kisses the left side of her forehead, the pressure of his kiss tilting her head to the side. She feels the need to explain herself.

"I'm sorry I was such a… a hussy this morning." Connor rests his cheek on the top of her head.

"It is I who should apologize. You are not to blame for what happened. I was the one who allowed it to go too far."

"But I lied to you." Connor lifts his face off of her head.

"When?"

"When I said I felt better. I didn't want you to worry." Connor moves his hands to her hips and turns her to face him. She knows he wants her to look at him so she slowly raises her eyes. His forehead is creased and the fine lines extending from the outside corners of his eyes are more pronounced than usual.

"I will always worry about you. Even when we are far from here and our lives are completely different, I will always think of your safety and happiness. A lie for my sake will never change that." Catherine exhales in a quiet burst that resembles a laugh but is filled with more sadness and cynicism than mirth. Connor frowns at her reaction and tightens his fingers on her waist.

"Listen to me, WildCat. I care a great deal for you. There is nothing I would not do if it is within my ability to make you happy. Do you know that? Nothing. Seeing you this way… in pain," he places his hand over the center of her chest. "I lack the power to change the spirit of the child growing inside you into my own. If I could I would have done it long ago." Catherine heartily wishes he could simply make it disappear but the greater meaning of his words quickly crowd out her scornful thought. Connor continues, his voice becoming even more earnest and he narrows his eyes, looking hard into hers.

"Believe me when I say I do not care who or what this child looks like. That means nothing to me, for I will see only you and the child will be mine in every respect." Catherine scrutinizes Connor's face, flabbergasted by his words and unable to reply. She can't understand how he can be so unconcerned about the parentage of a child that he would be providing for for many years. Her head shakes almost imperceptibly as she tries to see the situation through his eyes. She drops her head and stares unseeing at the center of Connor's chest as she continues to reflect on his incomprehensible statement. As if he can read her mind, he lifts his hand from her chest and tilts her head up so she is looking at him again.

"It does not matter to me." His voice is a low, adamant rumble and when he finishes speaking he turns from her and walks away. His hands are clenched by his sides and his shoulders seem even more hunched than when he approached her. Was he expecting her to change how she feels just like that? The thought makes her angry with him though she knows he genuinely had the best intentions. She is sure he believes wholeheartedly in his words, for he has never deceived her with empty pandering. He is honest to a fault and she remembers the way his angry words of truth had stung when he denounced her husband as a rapist and an accessory to her abduction. The strength of his conviction looms all around her and Catherine leans back against the horse for support. Damn that man! How can he be so sure and calm about something that will change her forever and expect her to feel the same? Catherine throws the brush to the ground and climbs onto the horse from a nearby stack of wood. She goads the horse to a gallop and passes by Connor as he walks toward the trail leading down to the gorge. He shouts something after her, maybe only her name, but she ignores him, choosing to hear only the thundering of her horse's hooves and feel the icy wind on her face.

Catherine follows the river for a long time and then decides to cut through the forest and move farther from the sound of the water, searching for silence. She comes across a narrow track and turns the chestnut to follow it. Twiddling the ends of her hair in her fingers, she lets the horse wander along the path, studying the way his dark mane moves and shifts with his gait and the breeze. Her thoughts migrate back to Connor. What is wrong with him? She knows he sees how upset being pregnant makes her. How can he think that saying he considers the child his will make her view it any differently? He was not the one who was raped. He has a choice in his destiny. The horse stops and Catherine kisses to him, encouraging him to walk again as she winds a curl up her finger carefully. The chestnut tosses his head, snorting and Catherine looks around.

Nothing seems amiss until she looks down onto the path just ahead of the horse. An enormous carcass lies across the track, tattered flesh hanging down into the cavernous place where the abdomen used to be. Catherine covers her mouth with her hand and guides her horse around the dead animal. As she gets a better look at it, it becomes clear that it was a horse. Her heart almost stops and Catherine sees the man who choked her before her face, his features purpled with rage as he compresses her neck in his hands. Through the buzzing in her ears, she hears the horse on the ground beside her squealing as it attempts to lift its head up but fails, collapsing in death so hard the impact carries through the earth to her back. Just as her vision starts to dim, the man choking her lets go and he turns to listen to something being shouted at him. Catherine's hands fall from his wrists and she tries to push herself out from under him. The last thing she sees is him turning back to her and his fist coming toward her face.

The memory of being struck makes her jump on her horse and she reaches forward and gathers two fistfuls of her horse's mane in her hands. She squeezes the stiff hair between her fingers and urges him forward. Her stomach is slithering with anxiety when only a short time later she enters the clearing in the woods. It looks different with no structure standing but she still recognizes the place. The body of the man she saw outside the cabin as she fled is still there but in an even worse state of ravaged decay than the horse. Both bodies have been partly consumed by wild animals and there is less left of the human corpse. Jagged sections of burned timbers lie in crumbled piles but most of the cabin is gone. Catherine doesn't dare dismount, for fear of being dragged back down into her nightmarish recollections. Even the horse seems skittish here. Catherine sits up straighter and surveys the area. Taking a single trip around the circumference of the ruin, Catherine moves on to the boulder where Connor found her and all the memories come flooding back. By the time she has finished her tour of the place she is nauseous and shaky so she kicks her horse to a gallop in an attempt to outrun her past.

Catherine pushes her horse as hard as she dares, wanting more than anything to return to the place and the person she associates with safety. She dodges trees and low branches, travelling through the forest at speeds more risky than she has ever attempted, only slowing when the river is by her side and the ground begins to rise. At the top of the trail Connor comes into sight where he stands by the cabin, his arms crossed, waiting for her. He must have heard her coming and he doesn't look happy.

Catherine canters up the trail on the horse, her hair bouncing around her shoulders. Her lips are parted as she rides and her face is contorted as if she wants to scream or weep in fear. She barely slows as she reaches the top, throwing herself from the horse's moving body and falling to the ground almost at his feet. She tries to stand but falls onto her hands and knees instead. Taken aback by her crazed leap from the horse, Connor drops down beside her.

"What happened? Are you hurt?" She shakes her head and does not raise her face.

"I saw it, Connor…" Connor takes her by the arms and lifts her to her feet. He is still aggravated that she galloped off, ignoring his calls but obvious shock shows on her face.

"Where did you go?" Connor is unable to temper the gruff irritation that deepens his voice and as he asks the question he knows the answer she will give him. Why would she go there? What good would it ever do her?

"I didn't mean to. I was just trying to think. The dead horse was there and I followed the trail… the cabin is gone but the place is the same." Connor squeezes her arms and Catherine gasps at the pressure, lifting her face to him. He speaks harshly to her.

"Do not ever go there again! It is not safe. What if more of Sergio's men had been there? They would have killed you! What were you thinking?" Connor stares into her eyes and in his peripheral vision notices that her hands are balled into fists. Letting go of her, he walks away angrily, stopping at the far corner of the porch and staring off at the waterfall. He leans his hands on the railing and lowers his head, breathing deeply. When he lifts his head he turns it slightly to face her as he speaks over the sound of the falling water.

"How can I protect you if you run away from me?" Catherine holds her shoulders with her hands crossed over her chest and gapes at Connor's back. He spins around when she remains silent and advances toward her. Catherine steps backward as he draws near, her old and seemingly buried fear of him bursting to the surface like some vengeful thing. She resists cowering away from his towering form by only the barest margin. He reaches for her again and her control almost slips through her grasp as a scream wants to burst from her but when he crushes her to his chest it all collapses to nothing.

"I almost lost you once, WildCat." He does not say more and Catherine's knees want to buckle at his words. What she had thought was anger directed at her was actually fear for her life. She had no idea that a man such as he, who had admitted to killing many people over years of his life, could fear anything. Despite her frustration with his single mindedness regarding her pregnancy, that issue is dimmed by the shadow of Connor's concern for her. Catherine rises onto her tiptoes, puts her arms around his neck and returns his hug.

"I won't leave again. I promise." His response is to squeeze her even tighter, shaking his head next to hers and pressing the last of the air out of her lungs in a groaning hiss as her ribs come close to cracking. When he loosens his arms, she has to catch her breath. Connor transfixes her with one of his piercing stares, his eyes consuming her like fire.

"I will not make you promise that. I understand the need to escape at times. I only ask that you consider how far and fast you run and remember that I am only a man. I have no horse to chase you, though I would try if I thought I could save you from harm. Do not risk my failure." His voice is measured, as if he is weighing the merit of his words before he speaks them. Catherine runs some of his hair through her fingers as she nods. When she rests her head against his chest, she is surprised to find his heart beating much faster then his voice and expression had shown. How does he live with such intensity inside him and not be completely annihilated by its influence? Even his love for her is too much at times, the weight of it so heavy she fears she will be ground to dust if she tries to contain it in any way. And God save the soul of whoever provokes Connor's anger. He had carried out a small massacre at the cabin, walking away with only the blood of his enemies marking him and none of his own until she had scratched him. _Only a man_, he had described himself, yet as Catherine stands there, dwarfed by his immense size, enveloped in arms almost the circumference of her thighs and caressed by hands that seem made exclusively for holding weapons, she can't help but think he is understating his capabilities if pushed to the extremity of his limits. She has no desire to test her theory. She knows he would never harm her if she did but she suspects the damage such cruel defiance would do to him would be irreparable.

The thought of harming Connor in such a surgical, premeditated manner is beyond Catherine's comprehension. It would make her as hideous a monster as her husband or her father in law. She slides her hands down from around his neck and grips his sleeves at his elbows, rolling the heavy, textured material between her fingers. Connor's heart slows to a more normal pace and some of the rigidity leaves his arms so Catherine takes the initiative to step back. He holds her by the shoulders and looks gently at her, much of the strange, angry worry gone from his countenance. With his right hand, he brings his fingers toward her face, brushing her cheek more softly than a feather and running his fingertips down to her lips. His touch lingers there before he completely lets her go. When he turns from her and walks away from the cabin, Catherine lets out the breath she didn't know she had been holding.

Two days later, Connor has not brought up her visit to the ruined cabin or their mostly one-sided conversation about her pregnancy again. The frustration that had originally driven Catherine to flee Connor's presence on the horse slowly resurfaces, giving her mind something to grate against. She tries her best to be genial, quietly taking his instruction on using a knife to defend herself. She goes through the motions of practicing; stabbing logs to strengthen her wrists and grip and wielding a short stick in place of Connor's hunting knife to practice with him as her opponent. Catherine uses her irritation with him as a personal spur, adding power to her jabs and stabs in an attempt to retaliate against him. He had really touched a nerve when they had spoken about her pregnancy days earlier and it continues to chafe, keeping her up long into the night. Something about it bothers her and she cannot see what it is that distresses her so much, which all the more infuriating.

Connor watches her with his aggravatingly emotive eyes framed by his perpetual neutral expression on his face, his gaze seemingly filled with his statement to her that day before she rode off. _The child will be mine in every respect. _He is a master at maintaining his stoic countenance but his eyes betray him time and again like an enemy. His silence is almost worse than his blatant truths and it makes her want to scream at him just to get a reaction on that face. After blocking several more of her attacks, Connor has her at a losing stance yet again with his stick against her neck. He scolds her in his quiet voice for not staying focused.

"You are not concentrating. Your thrusts are uncontrolled and you are allowing your thoughts to distract you. Again. Stay calm this time." Catherine steps back, throws her hands up in the air and shouts at him.

"I _am_ calm!" Instead of becoming angry with her, he smiles. Catherine clenches her teeth and growls shrilly in frustration. Damn that man! Damn him! Now he's laughing at her.

Connor can't stop. Catherine's extreme contradiction was adorable. The more he tries to stop, the harder he laughs. Catherine has her hands on her hips and she looks positively _feral_.

"Connor!" He has to walk away. When he has taken a few steps, Catherine's practice stick bounces off the back of his shoulders and it only makes him laugh harder. He turns to face Catherine. She has her arms crossed over her chest and her head is tilted down but she glares at him through her eyelashes. Connor's voice is broken by his amusement as he speaks. He raises his hands palm up by his sides in confusion and gestures with the stick he holds in his right hand.

"This is you being calm? WildCat, you are living up to your name today. What has taken you?"

"You! You make me crazy."

"What did I do?" Catherine purses her lips, crushing them together stubbornly. It is the closest thing to a pout Connor thinks he will ever see on her face. She blusters and casts about for an answer, coming up with nothing but half articulated words and angry shrugs until she walks away, slamming the door to the cabin. At least she did not ride away on the horse, leaving him worrying for her safety.

In the early hours after midnight, when her exhaustion finally starts to slow her racing heart and swirling thoughts she realizes what it is that had been eating away at her so much. Connor had never asked her if she wants him to be the father to her child. He had just decided it for her. While she had made up her mind to stay with him, there was never a conversation about intentions. He had given her a clear nonverbal indication of his affection for her and she had gone to him, let him take her in his arms and kiss her. She had accepted his chaste kisses on her cheeks and allowed him to hold her close. It had all started to feel so right until she had discovered her pregnancy. Even then, she had not rebuffed Connor when he had kissed her on her mouth. Rather, she had acquiesced when he had begged her with his eyes and continued to let him kiss her since. But he had not asked in any way to be the father, he only told her he would be. Is she angry with him over foolish semantics? Maybe. It is partly because of his kindness and uncomplicated sincerity that she still fights against seeing him as the father of this unwanted child. Connor sees things so clearly as right or wrong. Yet he has accepted something so morbidly wrong as right. To him, it is correct and he perceives it no other way. If only it were indeed a child of his making; things would be so much easier.

The truth reveals itself to Catherine like a slow awakening; two facets of their relationship have become linked inextricably by her pregnancy. Connor cannot be a husband to her without also being a father. Anything else would be impossible for him. The simplicity of it is so obvious that she is dumbfounded as to why she had not realized it sooner. Connor had come to that conclusion weeks ago and accepted it as merely a part of his future with her. He acknowledged that he cannot choose one over the other so he must take them both and be happy about it. Guilt washes over her for being angry with him and so adamantly resisting his selflessness until it had become a poison in her blood, corrupting her attitude and inhibiting her ability to think clearly. And even worse, she had used his desire for her against him when he had joined her in bed, twisting it into something empty and meaningless. No wonder he had stopped her. Sitting up, she stares through the cold darkness at where he lies by the fire. He had kept away from the bed since all of that. Is he truly asleep or has he been listening to her tossing and turning?

"Connor…" her whisper is barely audible even to her ears. Throwing off the blankets, she crawls to the foot of the bed and calls out in a slightly louder whisper.

"Connor…" This time he moves. He had been awake. He gets to his feet and walks silently to stand at the end of the bed. Catherine scoots forward on her knees and hugs him fiercely, her head resting on the top of his abdomen just below his pectoral muscles.

Connor looks down at her dark head against him and uses both his hands to stroke her hair as she clings to him.

"What is it?"

"Nothing." Her statement is the opposite of her actions and he is additionally taken aback when she pulls on his sides.

Connor stands there, barely even moving when she tries to make him come closer; the muscles in his abdomen shifting slightly under her hands as he resists her. Her hands are over the tattoos on his sides and for a fleeting moment, she pictures her fingernails scraping along him, making the marks he has had inked onto his skin. He moves his hands to her upper arms and looks questioningly at her when she turns her head upwards to look at him impatiently.

"WildCat?"

"Just come here!" Catherine's words burst out of her. Connor stops resisting and lets her pull him as she lies back until he is bent over the bed with his hands on either side of Catherine's body and his face almost perfectly aligned with hers. Carefully keeping his body from touching hers, he bends his right knee up and leans his weight on it next to her left leg, his left foot still touching the floor. The last thing he wants is a repeat of the other morning. She touches his left shoulder with her fingertips, sliding them down to his wrist and he fears he will be forced to stop her again. With both of her hands, she takes his left hand in hers and he leans his weight on his right arm to allow her to lift it. Placing his palm low on her stomach, she presses down on it and looks up at him.

"It will be yours." He is silent and Catherine watches the way his eyes reflect the small amount of pale moonlight in the room as they roam from her hands covering his resting on her stomach and back up to her face.

"You are certain?"

"So now you're asking?"

"I do not understand what you are implying."

"You decided to be the father of this baby without asking me. Now you're asking." She shakes her head as she goes on.

"Never mind. I'm letting you… I want you to be, because I finally understand your reasoning." Connor takes his hand from Catherine's stomach and brings it under her waist, sliding her up higher on the bed until her head is close to the pillow. He moves up to join her and eases his weight down, lying on his right side facing Catherine with his arm still around her waist. She straightens her body out and tucks the pillow under her head, pushing it over so Connor can share it with her. He kisses her softly on her lips once and squeezes her waist. Slowly, he slides his hand back down to the place above her womb and rests his hand there, laying his head beside hers.

Though her body still shows no visible signs, Connor imagines he can sense the life inside her. He hopes he can be a good father to this child. Never having had a decent, lasting relationship with his own father, yet maintaining hope that he can provide a loving role model to a child that is not of his blood makes his mouth twist in cynical irony. What would his mother think of him if she were still alive? Would she be proud? Would she laugh and wonder if he has been touched in the head? What a strange life he lives, yet he knows it could never be any other way. Catherine shivers and Connor reaches back to the blankets and pulls them over her, cocooning them both.


	13. Chapter 13

Awakening

Anika contemplates the distance they must travel and rues the monotony of the forest around them. It is only their second full day of riding, yet the pattern of the hours that pass mimic the day before. Sonehso:wa left her to go hunt and she is continuing on with the horse. The trees are farther apart in this portion of the woods and the snow is slightly deeper. If not for her skirts always wanting to tangle in the few inches of snow, she would have walked beside the horse just for a break. Her body is sore from so much riding and her heart aches to see Cat. Anxiety wells up in her stomach. It still does not seem possible that Cat is actually alive. She had finally accepted that she was gone and had done her best to move on without the best friend she had ever had. She had overcome the loss of her family all those years ago but she had still been practically a child then. Losing Cat had been almost worse because it was so senseless. Her family had died from illness, a few lost souls among countless others. Cat was _targeted_. And under her own husband and father in law's orders. She is sickened anew to know that they had both been living in a house together with those men. Would she, too have been taken if she had been with Cat that day? She could not have borne seeing Cat brutalized before her eyes. She would certainly have been given the same mistreatment but seeing it done to someone she loves so dearly would have broken her completely.

Sonehso:wa returns to her side bearing a collection of squirrels. He holds them up proudly with a grin, causing her to set aside her anxiety and laugh at his exaggerated glee. He secures them to the horse and then hops up behind her.

"You really know how to spoil a lady, don't you?" She giggles again.

"Anything for the yellow-haired Elder Sister."

"Who is that?"

"The Elder Sister? She is one of the sacred Three Sisters. They are the diohe'ko, our most important crops; beans, squash and corn. Together they are the life sustainers for the Haudenosaunee. The youngest sister is bean. She can only stand with the help of the eldest sister. The middle sister is squash and she loves to dance in the summer wind. The eldest sister is corn. She is the strongest and has yellow hair." His tone had taken on the quality of an experienced story teller, serious yet full of expression.

"Does this make me a powerful corn-goddess, then?" Anika lifts her long hair from where it hangs down the front of her body almost to her hips and tosses it backwards toward Sonehso:wa where it slips over his arm and shoulder with the wind and settles between them. He laughs heartily, returning to his characteristic jocular manner.

"No, Jitkwa:'e, but I think you are blessed by her spirit." He takes a section of her hair and runs it through his fingers.

"Oh. I was hoping I could be an almighty goddess and all mankind would worship my magnificent golden hair." Anika brings her arms out to the sides, turning her head as if she is looking down upon bowing masses at her feet.

"Hmmm." Is all Sonehso:wa says in reply, letting the evidence of his amusement shine through in the sound. Anika leans back against Sonehso:wa's chest with a low chuckle and he loosely wraps one arm around her waist and takes the reins from her with the other. She finds it endearing that he has given her a nickname simply for the color of her hair. His easy sense of humor makes what could be an arduous experience so much more agreeable. When he shamelessly flirts with her she often catches herself flirting back.

Plenty of men had made advances toward her in New York recently, most of them using crass words and vulgar gestures, making it clear they wanted only one thing. She and Catherine always turned heads when they were together but once Anika was alone and dressed in servant's garb, the looks became lewd and inappropriate. No longer seen as a woman of class, she became the target of every lusty drunk and seedy vagrant who passed by. She took to hiding her face and form, grateful for the cold winds of winter giving her a reason to cover up with her shawl. In contrast to all that repellant behavior, Sonehso:wa seems determined to keep her laughing from sunup to sundown. What a refreshing change! For once, she doesn't need to hide her face, afraid her features will draw unwanted attention. Who cares if he flirts? At least he isn't a disgusting rogue trying to grope her in an alleyway or offering her some small coin or another to lift her skirts and let him have a poke.

They come across a small stream and follow its path until evening when they camp near a cliff wall. At the campfire, Sonehso:wa skins and starts to cook the squirrels, so Anika follows the river around a bend and does her best to wash herself in the frigid water. She takes off her dress and kneels in her corset and shift on the bank. All she manages is a cursory splash of icy water on her arms and face before she becomes too cold to care about cleanliness anymore. She aggressively scrubs her exposed skin and pulls her dress back on in a hurry, buttoning it up the front as she walks back to the fire in the quickly fading light.

Sonehso:wa sees her fastening her dress as she approaches, struggling to get the last buttons in their places with numb fingers. When she drops down on the mat in front of the fire next to him, shivering, he reaches behind her, pulls the blanket free from under the corner of the mat and drapes it over her shoulders as she stretches her hands toward the flames with a sigh. Her cheeks are pink from the cold and a few damp tendrils of hair are stuck to her face.

"Thank you. I would give anything for a warm bath instead of that river water! That was awful!" Anika carefully covers every inch of her body with the blanket, making sure there are no sneaky gaps to let in the cold air. She raises her hands up inside the blanket and covers the bottom half of her face with the thick material.

"You should try jumping in sometime. It is invigorating."

"Are you crazy? That water is freezing! I would die!" All Sonehso:wa can see are her eyes but they are wide and expressive, matching her somewhat muffled exclamation. He smiles into the fire and turns the roasting squirrels.

"I jump off a cliff into a deep part of the river every winter with the other men at the village. It is a tradition of ours that we do for fun. Sometimes some of the women join us." Anika drops the blanket slightly and shakes her head at him, her mouth partly open and her eyes narrowed. Sonehso:wa laughs quietly at her expression.

"I could never do that!" Anika's voice is filled with shock.

"I think you could."

"Oh? And what makes you think that?" Anika raises an eyebrow at him challengingly.

"Cat said both of you were so drunk that night you ripped your skirt that you were bumping into things and laughing about it even though you were trying to conceal your behavior. That tells me you enjoy taking risks." Anika sniffs at his speculation.

"That only happened once… but I admit we did have a lot of fun. The next day was not good, though. Cat's father scolded us for sleeping late and being lazy but we were both terribly sick from too much rum and cider." Sonehso:wa is grinning widely at her admission and when he raises an eyebrow back at her smugly she can't help but laugh sheepishly.

"You still won't find me jumping into a river in the middle of March."

"There is a waterfall at the cabin. I might be able to convince you. It will probably be closer to the end of March by then…" Anika shakes her head and crosses her arms at his cheekiness, the blanket rolling between her arms and body. Sonehso:wa just looks at her from the sides of his eyes and smirks. A twitch crosses Anika's lips and she turns her head away, letting her hair fall down to hide her face but Sonehso:wa sees her shoulders shaking in silent laughter.

Anika wakes up shivering in the night. She pulls the blanket close around her neck and tries to settle more of her body against Sonehso:wa's, turning her head to warm her freezing nose against him. Her restless movements disturb him and he opens his eyes as she is pulling her shawl up over her head further. He reaches up to touch her hand.

"You are cold." His hand is warm against her skin and she nods. Sonehso:wa moves his hand to her cheek and neck under her shawl, slowly caressing her skin to warm it. The skin on his palm is hardened by calluses, likely from years of hard work and weapon use, yet his gentle and intimate touch against her neck sends a thrill down her body. A shuddering feeling of heat radiates through her, making her grip his shirt under his wrap. Closing her eyes, she breathes deeply, trying to control her racing heart. Anika feels Sonehso:wa's muscles tense and he rolls up on his side to face her, moving his right hand from her cheek to her upper arm and tipping her body back. For a brief moment when she opens her eyes, their faces are so close she thinks he is going to try to kiss her. She grips his shirt tighter, not sure if she wants to push him away or pull him closer. He moves his hand over hers on his shirt and runs his thumb over her knuckles and the back of her hand before lightly taking her wrist in his grasp. He gently pulls at her arm.

"If you let go and lie on your other side, I will keep you warm." Anika notices how tightly she is clutching Soneshso:wa's shirt and releases it immediately, moving her hand out of his fingers to the mat behind her. She turns her body and Sonehso:wa moves over enough for her to settle her back against him with her knees bent. Her neck aches as she keeps her head raised up uncomfortably, clutching her hands together close to her chest until Sonehso:wa slides his left arm under her head, giving her something to rest it on. With his right hand, he covers them both with the blanket, pulling it up high as Anika unclasps her hands and positions her shawl around her face. Once the blanket is in place, Sonehso:wa brings his right arm over Anika's side and takes her hand where it rests near her chin. He situates his body against hers and matches the bend in her legs with his.

Anika takes a shuddering breath as Sonehso:wa tightens his arm around her. The full length of her body is in contact with him and it is disturbingly good. His arm is touching her breast and every breath she takes increases the pressure. Some of his warm exhalations pass through her shawl to the skin of her neck, making tingles of sensation travel down her spine. He caresses her hand with his thumb and Anika closes her eyes and tries to ignore the way her body has begun to ache wonderfully in her most sensitive places. Moving only deepens the sensations inside her, making her more restless. In an attempt to keep calm, she concentrates on slowing her breathing but Sonehso:wa's arm is still against her breast, undermining her efforts.

The pulse in Anika's wrist flutters rapidly where Sonehso:wa's smallest finger rests against her skin and it is obvious she is working hard to keep her breathing even. The heat between their bodies is almost too much for him but at least she is no longer cold. Anika's reaction to his touch is unlike any other woman's he had been intimate with before. Never had a woman tensed up and acted so uneasily while in every other way her body responded predictably to his touch. Anika comes from a different world and based on her reaction to him, intimacy is not something as widely celebrated as it is with his people. That saddens him, for Anika is a beautiful woman and she should be enjoying what men can give her, not recoiling from it. He knows he is talented in pleasuring women and he eagerly wants to demonstrate his skill to Anika. That could be cruel and confusing to her, though, and his sensibility reminds him that if she is so tense now, she will probably grab his knife and stab him if he tries to caress her openly. Determined to eventually show her she has no reason to fear his touch, he resolves to be as patient as she needs and not to rush things. His eyes open suddenly and he lifts his head to look at Anika's face. She is stiffly staring straight ahead so he lies down again quickly. What if she finds him unattractive and her reaction to his touching her is due to total disgust? He hadn't thought of that as a possibility. It worries him and he slows his thumb stroking her hand until he is completely motionless.

Anika has been turned inside out. Somehow it seems she is more aware of her body than ever before, as if she has grown a thousand more nerves everywhere Sonehso:wa's body is in contact with hers. His hand burns against her skin and she imagines his arms around her without the barrier of clothing between them. How would it feel? The thought makes her want to gasp but she schools herself to stillness. She cannot deny being drawn to him. From the moment she first saw him she found him to be a handsome man, if a little imposing. His extraordinarily long hair was strange to her in the beginning, but his facial features were always dark, exotic and appealing. Their days and nights together, spending hours in each other's company, has proven him to be a friendly and charming companion in addition to being easy on the eyes. He makes her laugh and doesn't like seeing her sad or upset, especially in regard to Cat. His gestures have always been kind and comforting. Now, though, every touch from him takes on new life.

In the moonlight, she stares at the way his long fingers curl around her hand. Anika closes her eyes and focuses on the feel of his arm against hers, following it with her mind as it crosses over her waist and up her side to her shoulder. She feels protected by him and cared for, this man who is so completely different from any other she had ever been acquainted with. His way of life is unlike hers; his culture and religion are foreign and his people far from here. Even the way he wears clothing and jewelry is unfamiliar. She moves her hand out from his and touches the bracelets on his wrist. He stirs behind her. Maybe he is already asleep, for his thumb is no longer stroking her hand. Anika listens to his breathing, allowing the even rise and fall of his chest to lull her back to sleep.

Anika wakes with the early sunrise. Her body hurts less this morning and she wonders if she is starting to get used to sleeping on the ground in the freezing cold. She moves Sonehso:wa's arm lower so she can sit up. Her shawl is under the arm he is resting his head on and it slides off her shoulders as she sits up. She takes his right hand in both of hers and carefully lifts it while she moves away and turns to kneel facing him. Placing his hand on the mat and pulling the blanket back up, Anika watches his face as he sleeps. His eyebrows are full and dark and she notices his eyelashes for the first time. They are long, slightly curled and contrast deeply with his skin, just as his hair does where it partially covers his right cheek. With one finger of her left hand she moves his hair down toward his neck, exposing his jawline. He really is a striking man. Reacting to some inexplicable impulse, she leans forward and kisses his cheekbone, barely brushing his skin with her lips. He smells of smoky, dry earth and warm spice, an agreeable combination of scents that Anika finds pleasing. Perturbed by her impulsive act, she sits back and touches her lips with her fingers. Getting up, she walks away from where Sonehso:wa lies, her stomach knotted in uncertainty.

Sonehso:wa opens his eyes when he hears Anika move away from him. Her shawl is in a pile in front of him and he moves his hand up, gathers the soft fabric in his fingers and brings it to his face. The material holds her scent and Sonehso:wa breathes it in, remembering the feel of her fingers as she touched his hair and face. He had almost reached to take her hand as she had but changed his mind. His pretence had rewarded him with her kiss and he had overturned his temptation at that moment to reveal his awareness of her actions, choosing to let her think he was asleep. Over by the cliff wall, Anika uses the toe of her boot to push a rock into the fast moving water at her feet. She has her arms wrapped around herself and the breeze blows her dark skirt around her legs and twists her golden hair about. Despite her reaction to him last night, she kissed him and he is unsure what to make of that. At least that means she does not consider him to be hideously unattractive. Hopefully. He sits up and looks at the dead ashes of the fire. Movement catches his eyes and he returns his attention to Anika and watches as she walks away along the bank. She looks over her shoulder at their campsite and Sonehso:wa raises his head to acknowledge her. The wind gusts, blowing her hair over her face and she scoops it away idly with her fingers as she redirects her wandering path. Can she possibly be more beautiful than she is right now? Sonehso:wa stands as she nears and lets her shawl fall open from his hand. She takes it from him and drapes it over her shoulders with a surprisingly shy smile. He says nothing of her kiss.

After eating a cold breakfast, they pack up their few things but instead of riding, they walk together beside the horse. Sonehso:wa carries the reins loosely in his left hand and Anika holds two handfuls of her skirts against her hips to keep them raised up enough for walking. Sonehso:wa turns his head slightly toward Anika to speak as they travel, keeping an eye both on where he is walking and on her.

"We are closer to Albany now. We may reach it by afternoon tomorrow. I saw more farms when I was hunting yesterday."

"Do you plan to stop in the city?"

"Yes. We are on the wrong side of the river though. We will have to be cautious when we cross. It could draw attention if we are seen together."

"It could draw attention if I am by myself." Anika watches as Sonehso:wa considers her words, nodding.

"We will wait until darkness to enter the city. It will be safer. We will be less noticeable together and we can go to the man Ratonhnhake:ton sent me to before. He and his wife will allow us to stay in their house."

"It would be nice to sleep in a warm place for a night." She looks up at Sonehso:wa quickly, an apology in her expression.

"I assure you, I do appreciate your efforts to keep me warm." Sonehso:wa smiles down at her.

"I understand. I grew up sleeping out in the open when hunting and traveling so I am used to it."

"What about when you are not travelling?"

"We live in longhouses. They are not houses like you are used to. Not made of bricks or logs. Our longhouses hold many families together and are made of wooden poles, bark and hides."

"What was it like growing up in your village?"

"I had a normal childhood. Normal for my people, at least. I played in the woods with the other children, learned to hunt with a bow, fish in the river, typical things. When I was a little older, my mother was killed while she was planting one of the fields. When she had not returned by evening some of the men, including my father went looking for her. They found her and a white man who must have attacked her, both of them dead in the field."

"Oh, Sonehso:wa, that's awful! I'm so sorry that happened to her!"

"It was hard for me then. It changed me. I became angry at the colonists and considered them all to be a threat. I know now that the man that killed my mother did not represent all of the colonists. But it took a long time for me to accept it."

"I can understand that. I admit that the idea of leaving with you that night in New York terrified me. I was so afraid of you at first but now I know that I'm safe with you and you aren't a barbarian at all, just different."

"You hid your fear well. I knew you did not trust me but not that you were that frightened of me."

"At first I was more afraid of the men who wanted to attack me. Once we were away from the city, I became afraid of being alone with you. You killed two men!"

"I had to kill them. I promised to keep you safe."

"I know. I just have never seen anyone kill a man before. Had you ever killed before that night?"

"Yes. We have had to defend ourselves, our village, at times. We all train in warfare. Ratonhnhake:ton taught me how to fight better with my hands and with weapons."

"Is he a warrior in your village?"

"Yes… Almost all the men are. Does that frighten you?"

"Only if he intends to harm Cat." Sonehso:wa gapes at her, shaking his head.

"Ratonhnhake:ton would never harm a woman. Especially not a woman he cares for."

"A woman… he cares for?" Anika looks up wide-eyed at Sonehso:wa.

"Yes. He finds Cat very attractive and I think she likes him too."

"Oh… my!" Anika places her hand on her chest.

"Does that upset you, Jitkwa:'e?"

"No, I… It's unexpected, is all."

"Is it because he is a barbarian?" Sonehso:wa tries to keep his face serious when Anika looks up at him sharply but he fails and smiles instead.

"What? Heavens, no! That's the least of my concerns. This is not something to joke about, Sonehso:wa. Cat has been though all that abuse and she's letting him… she is not of sound mind!" Anika stops and lets her skirts fall to the ground. Sonehso:wa halts the grey as he faces her with his hand out.

"You do not have to fear for Cat or her mind. Ratonhnhake:ton sleeps on the floor and she sleeps alone in the bed. He has a very strong sense of honor and he would not touch her unless she wants him to."

"Oh…." Anika's face is hot with embarrassment from the direction their discussion had taken. Not knowing what Ratonhnhake:ton looks like, all she can picture is Sonehso:wa in a bed with Cat, touching her naked body.

"Does the idea of her being with him concern you?"

"I don't know. She was officially declared dead, ending her marriage to Francisco. He has legal documents. So I suppose she's free to choose whomever she wants now…"

"Even a Haudenosaunee man?"

"Well, yes, if she wants him."

"Would you ever consider a Haudenosaunee man?" Anika stares at him and then drops her eyes to the ground, unsure of how to answer his question. Sonehso:wa had a half smile on his face yet somehow managed to give off an air of total innocence despite his question. What is he aiming for? In her mind, the image of Cat sharing a bed with Sonehso:wa becomes her instead. She fell right into a trap, it seems. Was he aware of the kiss she gave him? Are his flirtations more serious than she gives him credit for and have her reciprocations led him to believe she is interested in him? It wouldn't be entirely inaccurate. Her heart beats faster at the possibility. How can she even think such a thing? She hardly knows him. Yet there's something about him…

Sonehso:wa watches a myriad of tiny changes cross Anika's face, altering her expression from startled confusion, to skepticism, anxiety and finally consideration. She does not answer his question and he tries to lighten the strange atmosphere they have found themselves in.

"I do not frighten you with how I look, do I?" He circles his palm in front of his face and Anika looks up at him and shakes her head. He raises his arms up slightly and makes a small, sudden lunging move toward her with a wide grin splitting his expression. Anika turns away, pulling her shawl up from her shoulder to cover the lower half of her face. He steps closer and she pushes him away with her hand against his chest, dropping the edge of the shawl and revealing a beaming smile. Sonehso:wa brings both hands to his chest and stumbles backwards, leaning against the belly of the horse as if she struck him a heavy blow.

"Aaah! The courageous woman defeats the ugly, barbarian savage!"

"Stop it, Sonehso:wa! You're not an ugly, barbarian savage!" Anika's laugh betrays her even as she crosses her arms under her breasts and huffs. When she glances back up at Sonehso:wa, he is watching her with an affectionate smile so she adds to her comment.

"You are, however, a buffoon!" Sonehso:wa raises his eyebrows at her as he continues to chuckle.

"I do not know that word but I hope it means something good."

"It means you make jokes and play tricks and don't take anything seriously."

"A fitting description!"

"It may get you into trouble some day."

"It already has…" he states proudly and Anika shakes her head and laughs again, throwing her hands up in exaggerated despair before turning him around by one arm and pushing him to walk again. His laughter echoes in the quiet forest.

They skirt along the edge of a farm and Sonehso:wa lifts Anika onto the horse as the snow becomes deeper among the thinner trees. When they reenter the thicker cover of more woods, he leaves her side to hunt. Anika feels a real sense of loss when he leaves this time and she wonders if she's completely crazy to let herself fall for him. Anika smiles as she thinks about their earlier conversation and how he trapped her with his surprising question. She mocks his voice under her breath.

"Would you consider a Haudenosaunee man, Anika?" She looks up at the sky between the bare branches of the trees and laughs, shaking her head. Would she? Isn't she right now? She is startled when a man steps out from behind a tree. He moves quickly towards her and takes the bridle of the horse in his hand, stopping Anika. Dressed in worn clothing and carrying a short sword on his hip, he looks like a rough sort. His hair is pulled back under a close fitting hat into a loose ponytail and it's hard to tell what color it is for its greasiness. He is unshaven and unkempt, as if he had spent the past several months living in a pig sty.

"Hello there, pretty thing. What are you doing out here all by yourself?" His dirty fingers tighten on the bridle as the grey horse shifts, sensing his rider's fear.

"I'm not by myself. You had best release my horse, sir."

"I don't see no one else. 'Cept my good friend, John here." A second man approaches her side. He takes off his hat and bows grandly, smiling widely and exposing a blackened grin. He is just as filthy as the first man.

"Your 'orse, eh? You 'ave the look of a runaway serving girl about you, all dressed in blue. I'm guessing you stole this 'ere 'orse from your master. You must've been 'is favorite." He curls his lip and lewdly waggles his tongue at her with a slobbering sound and then laughs with a wheezy quality that sends chills into Anika's blood. Looking over at his friend, he informs him of his grand revelation.

"We've got ourselves a 'orse thief, Sammy!" He reaches for her leg.

"Stay away! Don't you dare touch me!" The man called John laughs as he dodges her kick and grabs her ankle. Anika cries out loudly and swings at his head. He snatches her fist from the air and drags her off the horse, plucking the reins from her hand. Is this how it happened for Cat? Anika panics and thrashes in his grip.

"Sonehso:wa!" Anika screams as loudly as she can but any additional cries are cut off when she lands in the snow. The man who hauled her off the horse pushes her face down into the snow. It is painfully cold on her skin, and the icy crust below the shallow dusting on the surface scratches against her skin. The man straddles her and pulls her arms behind her back, wrenching her wrists up between her shoulder blades. Anika screams in pain as he pushes down on her wrists. Her shoulders feel like they are both on fire at the pressure. He pulls her backwards and up against his chest so she is kneeling with her hands painfully high behind her shoulders. The man who originally stopped her, Sammy, crouches before her. Anika struggles against her captor, trying to bend forward to ease the pain in her arms. She screams for Sonehso:wa twice more before Sammy wraps his left hand around her throat, pushing her back against John and increasing her pain exponentially. His grip reduces the volume of her cries to strangled gurgles. He brandishes a knife in his other hand, shushing at her.

"Shhh. If you stop fighting, this will go so much faster and easier." He releases her neck and takes the front of her dress in his hands. With a sudden movement, he rips the buttons open, leering at her exposed cleavage.

"No! Take your hands off me! Let me go!" Anika's struggles again and her cries turn into screams of pain as John raises her wrists higher behind her. Sammy leans in close and takes a handful of her hair at the right side of her face, tipping her head up. She arches backwards, trying to ease the burning in her shoulders and John takes advantage of her nearness to loudly smell her hair and express his approval, making her body quake uncontrollably in terror. Sammy's breath is hot and foul on her when he speaks.

"I told you it would go easier if you just stop fighting. Do you _want_ me to hurt you? It would be a shame to mar these, though, wouldn't it?" He brings the hand holding the knife down and extends two fingers, dragging them roughly over her left breast before pressing the flat part of the blade down against the top of it. Anika holds herself still, breathing hard. Sammy grins and breathily moves his face toward her cleavage but then stops with a grunt and lowers the knife, loosening his grip on the side of her head. He falls to the side, his fingers tearing out some of her hair. An arrow fletched with black feathers is buried deep in the side of his chest. John dives forward, pushing Anika down into the snow, his weight pressing on her back and trapped arms. Anika screams as an excruciating pop in her left shoulder sends a bloom of agony over her body and her face is forced into the icy snow once again. The man's weight is completely on her back, crushing the air out of her lungs and pinning her down. She is enveloped in a dark mist and her mouth and nose are blocked with snow. Lack of air causes a ringing in her ears that almost deafens her and her body starts to feel light, as if she is floating. Even the pain seems to fade into the encroaching blackness.

Distantly, a man is shouting but the sounds make no sense. The weight on top of her is suddenly lifted and dragged over her legs. Her left shoulder is agonizing and it is everything she can do to bring her right arm around and roll onto her right side, spitting out snow and gulping air. She moans in pain between every gasp for breath while her hearing clarifies and the floating feeling recedes. Snow melts on her chest and face and the water runs into her eyes when she opens them. Sammy is almost right beside her and Anika watches him as if in a dream as he writhes on the ground. His hand holds the bloody shaft of the arrow and more blood spatters from his mouth as he breathes. Anika touches her painful shoulder and slowly manages to turn her head towards her feet, only to see Sonehso:wa straddling John. His back is towards her and he is punching the man and parrying his attempts to return blows. John shouts sporadically and his feet scrabble uselessly for purchase in the snow, his boots digging tracks through to the wet, leafy earth below. Sonehso:wa's knuckles are bloody by the time he pauses long enough to draw his knife and Anika squeezes her eyes shut as John's shouting turns to begging and then is abruptly silenced and replaced with a sickening gurgling.

Sonehso:wa wipes the blade on the dead man's clothes and stands, reeling around to Anika. She is lying on her right side and her eyes are squeezed shut, her face contorted in a grimace of pain as she holds her left shoulder with her right hand. Her arm hangs limply at a disturbing angle behind her back and there are reddened abrasions on her left cheek and chin. Sonehso:wa sheathes his knife as he kneels behind her, reaching toward her. She flinches with a loud gasp as he touches her side, her eyes opening suddenly. "Jitkwa:'e, it is just me."

"Those men…" She can barely speak the words through her clenched teeth.

"They are gone."

"I can't move my arm."

"I know. Let me lay you back." Sonehso:wa takes her left arm in his right hand and Anika grits her teeth and holds in a scream as he slowly moves it out to the side and rolls her with his left hand on her hip. In agony, she tries not to weep but the outward movement of her arm is too much and she cries out, flinging her right hand out to the ground as if she could grab onto something. The pain is exquisite, worse than anything she has ever felt in her life.

Anika is screaming by the time her shoulder touches the snow. Once she is on her back, Sonehso:wa rests her forearm against the inside of his right leg, letting her wrist and hand lie against his stomach while still holding her upper arm near her elbow. Her eyes are glassy and she is panting openmouthed, shaking with pain and shock. Bending her knees up, she raises her right hand out of the snow and twists it in her skirt, whimpering with every exhalation. Sonehso:wa gives her time to recover from being moved, looking her over for any other injuries. Her dress is open partly down the front, every button gone from the neck to just below her breasts. A cream colored brocade corset is laced up over a white shift with a much lower neckline than her dress had, revealing the rounded upper portion of her breasts above rows of narrow lace ruffles accented by blue thread. On the top of her right breast is a very thin cut beaded with tiny drops of blood that merge with the melting snow on her skin and trickle away. Two distinct patches of bleeding, abraded skin mar her left cheek and chin.

When Anika's breathing slows and she appears to have recovered some lucidity, he turns his attention to her shoulder. Doing his best to not be distracted by her pain and fear, her screams still echoing in his head, Sonehso:wa moves his left hand to her shoulder and slides it under her damaged dress to feel her injury. The knob of her shoulder is displaced behind her and Sonehso:wa's fingers follow the shape of the deformity. Anika squeezes a handful of her skirt against her thigh and gasps at his prodding, rubbing her feet together frantically.

"It is out of place. I need to put it back."

"How? Oh God, it hurts so much!"

"I will have to pull on your arm." Anika's expression mirrors the terror in her stomach at the thought. She shakes her head in the snow.

"Nein! Please, Sonehso:wa, no!" Her voice quavers and she reaches her right hand toward him but Sonehso:wa pointedly nods his head while looking seriously into her eyes.

"It will only hurt for a short time. It will feel better when it is back in place." Tears pool in her eyes and the shining reflection of his face is mirrored over both of her green irises. She blinks and a tear slides down her face into her hair. Sonehso:wa withdraws his hand from her shoulder to touch her right cheek. He rubs his thumb over her damp cheekbone and she lowers her hand to his. Despite the sickness in his heart at her agonized horror, he keeps his voice calm.

"I am going to do it now." Anika whimpers and Sonehso:wa slides his hand lower on her face to touch her trembling lips lightly with his thumb before moving his hand away. He takes her wrist in his left hand and tightens his grip on her elbow with his right. He leans his weight on his right knee and moves his left to just below her shoulder, bracing against her chest just above her left breast. Anika grabs the upper edge of his legging on his thigh in her right fist and he pauses as she meets his eyes. Her hand shakes and Sonehso:wa looks into her gaze, finally letting the concern in his heart affect his expression. Her eyes shine with tears and her lips are parted as she takes rapid, shaky breaths. Fear lends a heartbreaking quality to her beautiful features and Sonehso:wa's stomach churns at the necessity of what he needs to do.

"I would not do this to you if it would not help you. We cannot wait or it will become impossible to put back." She nods and Sonehso:wa rises up, pressing his left knee down on her while pulling her arm out to the side and then up towards his chest. Anika cries out at the movement but before it can turn into a full scream of agony, a loud click comes from her joint and her pain almost vanishes.

Sonehso:wa hears her arm pop back into place, the jolt from the joint relocating communicating through her arm to his hands. He quickly takes his knee off of her chest, lays her arm down on her stomach and leans over her to touch her cheek again.

"It is done." Anika nods and moves her right hand to his arm, taking smoother breaths.

"Try to sit up," Anika grasps his sleeve and he helps her to a seated position. Sonehso:wa takes the open edge of her dress's neckline in his right hand and slips his left hand under and onto her shoulder again. It seems normal to his touch.

"How does it feel now?" She moves her shoulder tentatively and is surprised to feel very little pain until she shifts her arm backwards.

"It's much better."

"Good. I do not think anything is broken." He takes his hand away and directs his attention to the scratches on Anika's face, turning it with his left hand on her chin.

Anika had forgotten about Sammy until a wheezing laugh comes from him. He is partially up on his elbow and still holding the arrow buried in his chest with one hand.

"A German whore and a fuckin' savage. I never thought I would see a pair like you." He coughs and blood spatters from his mouth, adding to the trickles that are running down his chin into his beard. Sonehso:wa's face darkens and he lunges over and punches him, sending him back down into the snow. Sammy groans and weakly tries to push Sonehso:wa away. The hairs ripped from Anika's head catch the light where they are trapped in his fingers, the golden strands moving in the breeze. The sight of them enrages Sonehso:wa. He considers scalping the man just for that, but decides against it for Anika's sake.

"Do not further dishonor yourself with your words." Sonehso:wa looms over him, gripping the hilt of his knife. Sammy rasps a response anyway.

"Kill me, then, and go fuck your little whore." He spits bloody saliva, the projectile barely missing Sonehso:wa's face. Muttering in his language with his mouth twisted in fury, Sonehso:wa grabs the arrow in the man's side, rips it from his body and tosses it aside. Dark blood pours from the wound and the man writhes in pain. Sonehso:wa takes a handful of Sammy's stringy hair and pushes his head back into the snow, unsheathing his knife and placing the blade against the skin of his neck. Before he can slit his throat, the light leaves the man's eyes and his body jerks once before slumping in death. Resheathing the knife, Sonehso:wa returns to Anika only to find her clutching her gaping dress closed and shivering. He picks up her shawl from the snow and shakes it out. Kneeling down in front of her, he drapes it around her shoulders. Anika jumps at his touch and turns away, her face filled with fear once again only this time it is for him. Sonehso:wa gently turns her face so he can wipe some blood from her cheek. Slowly moving his arms around her, he eases her toward him and hugs her. Anika's right hand is pressed against his chest and she rigidly resists his embrace.

"I am sorry, Jitkwa:'e. I am sorry you had to see that." Sonehso:wa strokes her hair softly in an attempt to soothe her. After what seems like an eternity, Anika shakily takes her arm out from between them and moves it around Sonehso:wa's waist, her body quivering against him.

"I will not allow anyone to harm you. You are safe with me." His voice is gruff and he pulls her tighter, stroking her hair with a firmer hand. He wants to tell her he would kill a thousand men if it would keep her safe but he knows she is in no condition to hear something like that. Anika sobs briefly into him and then is still.

"If you had not come when you did..." Anika leaves the rest of her thoughts unspoken but knows he understands her, for he grips her even harder. Sonehso:wa is tense and almost crushing her to him, taking deep, angry breaths.

"We must leave this place," Sonehso:wa finally says. Anika nods against his chest and he lowers his hand to her right elbow and assists her to her feet. Keeping his body between her and the sight of the two dead men, he guides her away from the scene of her attack. The grey horse is not far and Sonehso:wa is careful when he lifts Anika up onto him. She grabs the horse's mane with her right hand to steady herself and leans down, resting her body on the animal's neck, not bothering to pull her skirts down as she always does. Sonehso:wa does it for her on the side he is standing, turns the horse to face away and returns to the dead men, frisking their bodies for any sign of a connection to Sergio. He finds nothing other than a few coins, some weevil-filled crusts of bread and their weapons. It is what he is expecting, but he had to be sure. Taking the sword and belt from Sammy and picking up his discarded arrow, Sonehso:wa returns to the horse. The shortsword and coins go in his bag and he cleans his arrow of the stringy, half-congealed blood coating it in the snow before returning it to his quiver. Back on the horse, Sonehso:wa places his left hand on Anika's back.

"We are going now." He says. Anika sits up, pressing her left arm to her stomach and holding her shawl tightly in her right fist. Sonehso:wa wraps his left arm around her waist, partially cradling her injured arm and when she tentatively leans back against him he kicks the horse into a canter. The memory of the two men attacking Anika as he ran towards her fills him with anger, revulsion and a deep, sickening anxiety at the thought of what they would have done to her if he had not arrived in time. It recalls the hatred he had once had for all colonists, knowing his mother was the victim of a similar attack. He will never forget the sight of his father carrying her naked corpse into the village, her stomach and chest punctured by several stab wounds. He found out later she had dragged herself away from her attacker after successfully killing him, only to die where she lay several feet away.

Grateful he was close enough when he heard her screams to reach her before they could take her from him, he presses his hand against her stomach, holding her tightly to his body as they ride. There is no way he could have had any mercy for those men. They had to die but because of it Anika is fearful of him and it makes him sick. He wants spur the horse to a gallop but is afraid of jarring her shoulder and harming her further.

Sonehso:wa still seethes with anger and Anika respects his silence as they ride, clutching her shawl closed and keeping her head bowed. His transition between extreme violence towards her attackers and gentle tenderness for her was as rapid as the snuffing of a candle. His aggressive protection of her is shocking and he seems willing to go to any length to ensure her safety. Sonehso:wa pulls her closer every now and then and clenches the reins in his right hand. Anika stares at the broken skin of his knuckles and the blood that has dried on the back of his hand and between his fingers. Her heart pounds in her chest when she thinks about him hitting the man who held her hard enough to break his skin and the violent rage he had flown into when the other man had insulted them. He was ready to slit his throat! Who is this man she is with? His capacity for violence is frightening yet he holds her as carefully as if she is a fragile thing. The dichotomy has thrown her into confusion. Where is the man who laughs, jokes and flirts? He has turned into a rabid beast with bared teeth and claws, ready to kill.

Eventually, Sonehso:wa lets the horse slow to a steady walk and eases his grip on her waist with a quiet sigh. The tension leaves his muscles and his body moves easier with the motion of the horse. Anika is relieved at the change. He feels more familiar behind her, no longer the frightening stranger of earlier. She lets go of her shawl and rests her hand on his right wrist, curling her fingers over his bracelets. The blood on his split knuckles is dried and almost black and she moves her fingers up towards them. Sonehso:wa does not react when she touches his injuries one by one.

"Where did you go back there? You were not Sonehso:wa anymore. You were someone else." He lowers his face next to hers but she remains impassive, staring at their hands.

"Jitkwa:'e…" he breathes deeply and Anika waits for him to answer her, her fingers still touching his knuckles.

"That was me. That was me when I was ten and my mother was murdered. That was me as a teenager and still angry at everyone. I hated my father for leaving our tribe to join the Kanien'keha:ka. I hated the woman he married because she was not my mother. I hated their language that I had to learn. That was me when I was twenty three and I hated Ratonhnhake:ton for being half white and an outsider yet accepted fully by the tribe. I was angry for years and I distanced myself from everyone. Even though I have changed how I am since then, that fire is still in me." He sighs and releases the reins, turning his hand and taking Anika's.

"Anika." She inhales when he says her name.

"All I could think of is what they were going to do to you. I could not let that happen and I could not let them live to do it to someone else. Those men were criminals. They deserved death. Anything less would have been agreeing with them." Anika trembles against him and he squeezes her hand.

"Do you understand? Anika?" Anika nods her head and Sonehso:wa watches a tear make its way down her cheek and drip from her chin. Releasing her hand, he traces its path with his fingers.

"I will never hurt you," he whispers in her ear, his warm breath stirring the hairs around her lobe. His lips find her skin just in front of her ear and he lightly kisses her in the wake of his fingers. Anika's body shudders. She is torn between her attraction to him and his rage. The same warm pleasure she felt before from his touch floods her body even as her mind is still in turmoil. His kiss is not a simple consoling gesture. Was his anger worsened because she is not just someone he vowed to protect, but a woman he feels affection for? Sonehso:wa keeps his face near hers and runs his fingers through a section of her hair before taking up the reins again, speaking quiet words to the horse in his language and clicking his tongue at him. His behavior, even if it is tinged with a possessive quality, is familiar and comforting, reminding her that the man she had spent so much time with in only a few days is still here with her.

Anika does not push him away or turn from his face and Sonehso:wa takes that as a good sign. He knows no other way to accurately express how he feels to her other than physical contact. He could say it in Ogwehoweh or Kanien'keha but she would not understand. The words he comes up with in English sound unrefined and base. She would be more likely to misunderstand him and think he is shallow or asking her to marry him. Instead, what he feels falls somewhere in between, a longing to give her pleasure, make her feel safe and share something on a deeper level as well. To make a connection that has meaning and substance, yet does not snare or restrain. She would be free to accept or reject him with no consequences. Unable to speak, he is stifled by inaction and forced to withhold the attentions that for so many of his people, bring comfort, relief and satisfaction in times of stress.

Ratonhnhake:ton understands the ways of white people better then he. He had been in a relationship with a white woman before and more than likely he will be in a better one with Cat before long. How does he handle their strange views on sex? Even Ratonhnhake:ton admitted he had not freely shared in it until he had been with his first woman shortly after the war ended. Sonehso:wa sighs. If Anika only knew the many things he could tell her in the languages that are familiar to him. He is startled when she puts her hand over his forearm. Her fingers curl into his sleeve and she rests her head back against his shoulder. Kissing her cheek again, Sonehso:wa loops the fingers of their left hands together on her stomach. They ride on unmoving and silent, both of them lost in separate ruminations.

"How did you know what to do for my arm?" Anika asks from where she sits by the camp fire. Sonehso:wa sits closer to her side than usual and he turns his face down to look at her. They had spoken little during their travels leading up to stopping for the night.

"When I was very young, I had fallen out of a tree while playing and landed almost on my head. One of the women in my village found me crying on the ground and carried me back. My father looked at me and did just what I did to you. Then he scolded me for being foolish and falling from a tree. When I ran to the longhouse and told my mother what happened, she scolded me as well and then kissed me and sent me out to play again."

"And you remember from that long ago?"

"I am not an old man…" He speaks as if insulted and Anika sucks in her breath at his tone. He looks down at her again and smiles when he sees her face.

"I am only a year older than Cat," he continues. Anika shakes her head.

"I suppose one would not soon forget the pain."

"No." Sonehso:wa considers her words. She did not react the way he had expected to his attempt at humor. Is she still afraid of him? Her mention of pain makes him reconsider.

"Are you in pain now, Jitkwa:'e?"

"Some." Her vague answer smacks of deception. He leans over and turns her face toward him with his right hand. As he does, his swollen and reddened knuckles remind him of his own discomfort. She must be feeling much worse than he is. Her face is smooth except for a tiny line between her eyebrows. Her lips are looking less full, probably because she is clenching her teeth.

"You are hurting more than you admit." Sonehso:wa holds his hand out to her.

"Give me your shawl." Anika slowly pulls it off of her shoulders with her right hand and gives it to him. He takes it and leans to the side, laying it out flat. He scoops handfuls of snow into it and when he has amassed a good amount, he folds the four corners of the shawl up and ties them in a looped knot.

"Lie down on your back." Anika does as he bids wordlessly, wincing when she drops her left arm down from her stomach. Sonehso:wa pulls the blanket up over her and then folds the corner covering her left shoulder down over her chest. He lowers the snow filled shawl onto her shoulder and uses his hands to encourage it to settle around the top of her shoulder and under her arm. When he is satisfied with the arrangement, he lightly touches her cheek before leaning back to his seated position near her knees. Anika is too uncomfortable in this new position to speak and has directed all her energy to holding in tears of pain. Sonehso:wa watches her for some time, occasionally turning back to the fire. Her shoulder grows cold and then starts to get numb, relieving her discomfort considerably.

She must have drifted off, because when Anika opens her eyes, Sonehso:wa is at her feet, sitting on the very end of the mat with his back against a tree. There is a large pile of branches and fallen wood gathered nearby and the fire is burning high. The heat of it is warm on her face. When she returns her gaze to where Sonehso:wa is sitting, she realizes he's actually asleep. His knees are bent up, his head is propped on the tree and his arms are crossed over his chest and tucked under his wrap. A stab of guilt makes Anika want to call out to him but when she tries to move over on the mat, the protestation from her shoulder silences her voice before it can escape. Her clothes are soaked through to her skin everywhere under the shawl, which appears considerably emptier than before. Anika watches the fire and Sonehso:wa alternately until her eyes grow heavy and she drifts off.

Sonehso:wa feeds the fire throughout the night, napping until the flames sink low and the cold wakes him. Anika murmurs in her sleep, twitching and flinching, crying out once and startling him from his slumber. When the colors of dawn start to lighten the forest, he rises to his feet once again and gathers his bow, quiver and bag from next to Anika. He had taken her wet shawl from her shoulder during the night when it appeared to have exhausted its purpose and laid it out near the fire to dry. She now lies fully covered by the blanket, still sleeping. They had eaten some of the dried provisions left from his first trip through Albany for dinner but after the restless night he had had, Sonehso:wa wants a more substantial breakfast. He tosses a large piece of wood onto the fire and glances back at Anika before leaving the camp site in search of game.

Anika is alone when she wakes but not for long. The sun has fully risen and with the brightening light comes Sonehso:wa. He carries a basket with him. Anika struggles to a seated position and gasps as the pain in her shoulder sends starbursts lancing over her vision.

"Where did you get that?" Anika's voice is thick with sleep.

"I met a farmer and his wife when I was hunting. They accepted a trade for some food. I promised to return the basket and other things when we are done." As he comes close, the smell of fresh bread drifts from the basket enticingly.

"Oh! It smells like heaven!" Anika breathes, her eyes closed. They sit side by side and share the contents of the basket. Inside is a loaf of bread, a wedge of soft, yellow cheese, some boiled eggs and a lidded pot of black tea. All of the food is accompanied by some tin plates and cups and a generous helping of maple syrup in a glass jar.

"What did you trade for this?" Anika asks as she holds a steaming cup of tea in her hand and inhales the steam greedily.

"The sword I took from one of your attackers. It is useless to me but they wanted it for the leather and the steel." Anika sighs.

"Well, at least something good and useful resulted from what happened. I'm glad you took it." Her voice is bitter and Sonehso:wa looks down at her, his right arm resting on his bent knee. He holds his cup by the top edge with his fingertips. Moving some of her hair off her shoulder, he follows it down her back with his left hand. Anika looks up at him as he does, her anger fading and her frown softening when he leans close and kisses the top of her head.

At the edge of the forest Sonehso:wa stops the grey and dismounts. He unties his blanket from the back of the horse and opens it, tossing it up to Anika.

"Put this over your body and cover as much of your clothing as possible. If you hide your yellow hair and keep your head down, you could pass as an Onondowaga woman." Anika does as he asks, pulling her shawl well forward over her hair and wrapping herself completely in the blanket with his help, draping its fringed edges down over her boots. Sonehso:wa walks around the horse to inspect her and reaches up to tug once on the blanket to more fully cover an exposed boot heel. Anika lowers her face and Sonehso:wa nods his approval.

Leading the horse by the reins and carrying the basket, Sonehso:wa brings Anika out of the cover of the forest and along the edge of a field. At the far edge, across from a small log cabin, he stops the horse and leaves her side to walk to the door. He knocks and an elderly woman opens it. From where Anika sits on the horse, shrouded in the blanket, she can see their interaction clearly but can't hear them. The woman takes the basket from Sonehso:wa's extended hand. They talk for a short time and the woman points in Anika's direction. After more conversation, Sonehso:wa steps backward and the woman waves to him and then to Anika. Not wanting to expose her pale skin, Anika lowers her head and pretends to be shy, though inside, she longs to greet the kind woman and thank her personally. When Sonehso:wa reaches her and takes the reins to lead the horse again, Anika risks turning her head to look at the cabin again. The woman is still standing in the doorway, one hand pressed to her chest, watching them.

"What did you say to her?" Anika asks.

"I told her we were on a journey to the north to meet with another tribe. She thinks you are my wife and that you are afraid of white people." For the first time in almost a full day, Anika laughs.

They ride past sunset, deciding it best to just press on to Albany instead of stopping to camp or eat. Sonehso:wa's decision to enter the city under cover of darkness would necessitate the wasting of an entire day if they were to stop almost within sight of it. No longer able to stay among trees, they cross snow covered fields in a direct path toward Albany. There are lights in the distance and the silvery, moonlit strip of the large river that has allowed it to become a bustling port city. Their path eventually brings them closer to the roads and the few people still travelling on them as the hours grow late. Anika rubs her sore shoulder. It has remained stiffened up and achy since the evening before. The skin and muscles feel swollen and bruised.

At last they reach a river crossing. A few people waiting for the ferry barely glance their way and Sonehso:wa pays the fee for them both and the horse without any protest from the tired looking ferry driver. One man tries to look under the shawl concealing Anika's face and Sonehso:wa steps between them defensively. He speaks over his shoulder to Anika in his language sharply and though she does not know what he says, she turns her head away slightly to hide her face, drawing the blanket up to her chin.

Sonehso:wa winds through the emptying streets to the house where Isaac and Bethany live. At their fenced back yard, he opens the gate to let the horse in. He gestures silently to Anika to stay on the horse and wait before rounding the corner of the house to knock on the door. At first he hears nothing but after a second, louder knock, footsteps come from inside. A curtain is pulled aside upstairs and Sonehso:wa sees the shape of Bethany's head looking down at him. Isaac opens the door a crack and then pulls it wide when he recognizes his visitor. He is dressed in night clothes.

"You are back! What brings you so late?"

"I need to stay here again."

"Of course! I told you you were always welcome here."

"I have another with me. A woman in danger who must not be recognized."

"Hmm. Well, bring her in then. That explains the lateness, I suppose." He waits as Sonehso:wa disappears around the side of the house. Anika sits hunched on the horse but she looks up when she sees him. He reaches up to her and she painfully dismounts from the horse, wincing when her feet land on the ground and the impact jostles her shoulder. Sonehso:wa unties his bag and bedroll and removes the bridle from the horse. He loosens the straps holding the blanket but leaves it on the horse.

Anika follows him around to the front of the house and squints in the light from the lantern Isaac is now holding. Isaac reaches out a hand to help her up the stairs and Sonehso:wa checks to see if anyone is paying attention before entering the house and closing the door after them all. Bethany is coming down the stairs.

"And who is this all wrapped up?" Anika pushes her shawl back and both Bethany and Isaac stare at her in shock. Anika's brow furrows in confusion and she glances at Sonehso:wa for an explanation. He shakes his head, not understanding either. Isaac recovers first.

"I am sorry to stare, my dear, but you could be the sister of our deceased daughter."

"Oh… I'm terribly sorry for your loss, Sir. Madam." Anika lowers her head and makes a small curtsy to them. Bethany approaches her and touches her scratched cheek, her compassionate expression filling Anika's heart with warmth and gladness.

"Yes, it was a bit of shock to see your face. You are the very vision of our Sarah, though now I can see that you have different features. And you are not a bit English. But how rude of us! You must be cold and hungry! Let me take your things so you can go warm up by the fire." Anika shrugs off the blanket and shawl with Bethany's help. Bethany sucks in her breath at the sight of her damaged dress and the way Anika is holding her left arm against her body.

"What happened?" She glances over at Sonehso:wa accusingly. Anika sees her and quickly speaks up in his defense.

"Madam, I was accosted by two bandits in the woods yesterday. If not for Sonehso:wa, I would be dead. He stopped them before they could harm me... more." Bethany gasps and flutters her hands.

"Come then, child, I will get you fixed up." She leads Anika away into another room and shuts the door behind them. Isaac raises his eyebrow at Sonehso:wa and then walks into the kitchen, waving his hand for him to follow.

"I suppose I can get us something to eat. Bethany can't stand an injured creature. She will make sure the girl is well taken care of. What is her story?"

"It may be safer for you not to know."

"Son, Connor trusts me for a reason. We are not mere business acquaintances. I am well aware of who he is and what he does." Sonehso:wa silently wishes he knew the same.

"Very well. This woman, Anika, is running from men who wish her harm. Her companion is currently under Connor's protection and we travel to join them."

"Interesting. I had wondered why Connor sent someone in his name. It's not like him. How long will you stay here?"

"Not long. I want to get her to safety as quickly as possible. But Anika could probably use a rest after what happened yesterday."

"What did happen?"

"I had left her side to hunt and while I was gone two men attacked her. They were attempting to rape her when I found them. I shot one but the second one dislocated her shoulder before I could get him off of her. He died by my blade after I fought with him," He gestures with his injured hand carelessly.

"Her shoulder went back in place easily but not without a great deal of pain for her. She could move it at first but since yesterday afternoon she has been very uncomfortable." Isaac nods his head.

"I am happy to hear that you prevented further injury to her. She is in good hands with us. You may stay as long as you need to." He turns to rummage in the pantry, producing some bread and cold meat. Bethany emerges from the living room through a second door attached to the kitchen, shutting the door behind her. In the kitchen she pats Sonehso:wa on the arm, frowning momentarily at his lacerated knuckles.

"I must apologize for the look I gave you, dear. It's not every day you see a woman in such a state." She turns to her husband.

"Would you be a dear and fill the big pot with water and set it by the fire to heat? I would help Anika get cleaned up. I think some of Sarah's old clothes will fit her until we can fix her dress. She may as well use them." Bethany takes a plate and places some of the bread and meat on it for Anika. She fills a mug with cider and disappears into the living room again. Isaac shrugs his shoulders and retrieves a large pot from the pantry and carries it to the fireplace. He adds several logs to the fire and Sonehso:wa helps him fill the pot with buckets of water from the small well out behind the house, filling the trough for the horse while he is outside.

The men are fairly quiet while the water heats. Sonehso:wa is worn out from lack of sleep the night before and the long day of travel. He eats the food Isaac gives him and they both have a mug of cider. In the other room, sounds of the women conversing filter through the closed door but the sounds are muffled and he cannot make out what they are talking about. Anika's laugh comes from the closed door and he relaxes, feeling the effects of the fermented cider adding to his exhaustion. Isaac tests the water and knocks on the door to the living room. Bethany comes out and goes to the pantry to find a smaller pot to fill. Inside, Anika is sitting in a chair by the fire, his striped blanket wrapped around her. He walks to the door of the room and leans against the frame. Anika smiles at him and lifts her hand out from under the blanket to crook a finger at him. Smiling, he goes to her and crouches down next to her chair on her left. Her dress is draped over the back of the chair and Anika's small, bare feet are tucked underneath. Sonehso:wa is quietly amused that even that descriptor provided by Catherine is accurate.

"Mrs. Young is very kind."

"They are good people. How is your shoulder?" Anika lets the blanket slip onto her arm, revealing her sleeveless shift and purple and blue discolorations on her skin. Sonehso:wa sighs at the sight of it.

"Is it very painful?" Anika smiles ruefully at his concern.

"Somewhat. But it'll heal, thanks to you." She pulls the blanket back up and reaches her right hand to the side of Sonehso:wa's face. He covers her hand with his and turns his head to kiss her fingers.

From the kitchen, Isaac and Bethany watch Anika and Sonehso:wa. Bethany is clasping her hands to her chest and Isaac puts his arm around his wife. They share a smile, remembering their own history together. Bethany leaves the kitchen to get clothes for Anika and Isaac clears his throat before entering the room with the pot. Sonehso:wa stands up and takes the pot from Isaac, placing it near the fireplace. Isaac looks down at Anika.

"We have not been properly introduced. I am Isaac Young. You are very welcome here, Anika. I have told Sonehso:wa that you can both stay as long as you need to, though I understand you have someplace you would like to be urgently."

"Thank you, Mr. Young. I appreciate your and your wife's hospitality under such unexpected circumstances and late hour. You are very generous." Sonehso:wa returns to Anika's side and rests his hand on the back of the chair.

"Nonsense, young lady. We are happy to have you both. Is there anything I can get you that you need?"

"Not at the moment, thank you." Isaac smiles at her as Bethany returns with some folded clothes and towels.

"Alright, you men get on out now and give the girl some privacy. These are for you." She hands a towel and a cloth to Sonehso:wa, along with a bar of soap and a set of clothes. Isaac will show you where you can sleep." Anika looks up at Sonehso:wa and he smiles at her before leaving. Bethany bustles her husband out and shuts the door.

"My, you have yourself quite an unconventional catch!" She smiles knowingly at Anika and she blushes and looks down at her lap.

"To be honest, I only recently feel this way and it rather took me by surprise, Mrs. Young."

"Well, I can't say your future together will always be easy, with the way his kind is viewed, but love is love and there's no use denying it once it arrives." Bethany places the clothes and towel for Anika down near the fire to stay warm. Anika hesitates to use the word 'love' but refrains from correcting the woman.

"Let's see about getting you cleaned up then?"

"That will be wonderful." Bethany helps Anika painfully get out of her corset and shift, tsking at her scratches and bruises and the cut on her breast. By the time Anika is bathed and dressed in one of Sarah's shifts, smelling of the rose petal soap Bethany had provided, she is exhausted. It is well past midnight when Bethany has Anika settled with blankets and pillows on the couch. She leaves, shutting the door behind her and Anika closes her eyes and sighs deeply. She finally feels clean, her hair still damp from her bath. The couch is reasonably comfortable and Anika pulls Sonehso:wa's striped blanket off the floor and spreads it on top of the other blankets. Her shoulder is aching from moving it so much while bathing and changing and she is grateful to just keep it in one place. Anika thinks about where Sonehso:wa must be, so close in the same house but seeming so far away. She misses his warm presence now despite her original aversion to his arms around her only days ago when they first started out. How things have changed! She wishes she could hear his steady heartbeat under her cheek. Closing her eyes, she breathes deeply, pulling the striped blanket up over her face. His scent is almost discernable but it just is not enough to comfort her as she drifts off.

Sammy takes the bridle of her horse as John pulls her off. Once again, her arms are pulled up behind her, Sammy's fetid breath filling her nose and making her gag. This time, he cuts her dress open, tearing through with his knife and slashing roughly at the laces of her corset, gouging her skin with the knife. Her shoulder aches as she struggles and screams silently, unable to call out to Sonehso:wa, who she knows is only a short distance away. Sammy reaches for her, his black teeth showing as he grins at his prize. Anika struggles again, fighting to scream, her shoulder burning in pain as the man roughly pulls her clothes aside, exposing her breasts. She turns her head away and Sonehso:wa is lying face down in the snow, covered in blood with the knife he keeps sheathed on his chest buried to the hilt in his back. Anika finally manages to scream, knowing her fate is sealed and no one will help her now.

Sonehso:wa listens to Anika's distress through the door of her room, his hand on the handle. He had been lying sleeplessly despite his fatigue when he started to hear her and had risen and walked to the closed door of the living room. Her noises are typical of a nightmare and he wants to wake her from her torment. A creak on the stairs makes him turn to look behind him and Mrs. Young approaches, holding her shawl around her shoulders.

"What are you doing? I heard noises." She whispers.

"Anika is dreaming something bad. I wish to awaken her." Bethany furrows her brow and looks sternly up at Sonehso:wa. He is not wearing a shirt, only the soft fabric pants she had given him earlier in the evening. His earrings, necklace and bracelets still adorn him, appearing bright in the moonlight against his dark skin. She cannot make out his facial expression but she knows he cares deeply for the young woman. Anika cries out loudly and Sonehso:wa faces the door and turns the handle.

"I must go to her," Bethany sighs with resignation and does not protest the inappropriateness of him entering the sleeping place of her guest. After all, they had spent several days with only each other for company and must have shared the one sleeping roll and blanket. She would be fool to think that they were not in each other's arms before now. Inside the living room, Sonehso:wa kneels by Anika's side next to the couch and places his hand on her. Bethany sighs again and turns away, leaving them alone. She hears them quietly talking as she makes her way back upstairs.

In the bedroom, Sonehso:wa kneels by Anika, watching as she twitches on the couch, her left shoulder trapped against the cushion and under his blanket. The blanket is under her shoulder and looped over her left arm but then trapped under the weight of her body. She has pushed it down from her right side and her right arm is gripping the blanket near her left elbow. She cries out again and he strokes her face lightly, whispering to her in Ogwehoweh to wake her. Her eyes open wide as she startles awake, wincing in pain.

"Jitkwa:'e, it was just a dream. You are safe."

"Sonehso:wa! They killed you and I had no one to help me." She takes his elbow with her right hand and tries to reach for him with her left arm but the pain and blanket stop her. Sonehso:wa tugs the blanket out from under her side, freeing her left arm.

"Who killed me?"

"Those men from yesterday. It was so real. The blood… your own knife in your back!" His eyes narrow for a brief moment at her description, but then he smoothes his face of worry. Sonehso:wa extricates Anika from where she is trapped against the couch cushion by sliding his left hand behind her neck and easing her toward him slightly with his right hand on her left side. She smells of wild roses.

"Put it out of your mind. It cannot happen." Anika sits up on the couch and pulls the blanket up as she shivers. Sonehso:wa sits down on her left. The small amount of moonlight shining into the room highlights the muscles on Sonehso:wa's torso and shoulders as he reaches for her, taking her in his arms. She leans against him and he caresses her hair. Defying the pain, she raises her left arm and places her palm on his stomach, feeling his warm, bare skin against her hand and cheek. Anika closes her eyes and turns her face in to his chest, breathing deeply of his clean, warm, earthy scent that she could not get from the blanket. He breathes slowly and Anika reaches high with her right arm and runs her hand down his back, stopping where the knife had been in her dream. She moves his hair aside with her fingers and presses her palm to his back, assuring herself that his skin is smooth and unbroken, warm with life and breath. Sonehso:wa touches the fingertips of his right hand to her cheek, kisses her head and then cups her face in his palm. Anika has never felt so cared for in this way by anyone.

"You should sleep if you can, Jitkwa:'e. We have much to do tomorrow." Anika tilts her face up to him and he lightly grazes his thumb over her bottom lip. She cannot bear the thought of him getting up and leaving her now.

"Stay with me." He stares at her upturned face. She asks him to do the very thing he wishes for as if he might refuse her. He slides his fingers into her hair, sweeping it off of her face and tilting her head farther back as he lowers his face to hers to kiss her slowly in answer. Her mouth is soft as their lips touch. Sonehso:wa brushes his lips lightly over hers and then presses against them, pushing his bottom lip between hers. She opens her mouth to him and he flicks his tongue just inside as he kisses her, making her clutch at his back. Taking her bottom lip in his mouth, he holds it enough to let it slide from his lips only when he draws back slowly. He lingers near her lips, considering kissing her further but as night is passing by quickly, he refrains. Kissing her has strengthened his desire for her so much he has to fight to lean away from her face. He returns his hand to her face and sits straighter, bringing her head to his chest, knowing she will hear how fast his heart is beating. Anika sighs and trails her fingers through the bottom half of his hair until he moves his hand to the corner of her neck and shoulder, lightly pressing his fingers against her, causing her to lean back from him and rest her hand on his arm.

"We should sleep," he says softly. Anika nods and curls her fingers against his bicep. He lies against Anika's pillow and she stands up so he can bring his left leg up onto the couch. Too tall to fit, he bends his knee and slides down until his head is resting on the pillow. Raising his left arm, he motions to Anika to come to him and she sits between his legs and tucks the end of the blanket over Sonehso:wa's leg. He takes her lightly in his arms as she leans over him, her position giving him an entrancing view of her cleavage, the fullness of her breasts free of the constricting corset and the dark line of her cut visible against her pale skin. She lowers herself down on his stomach, curling her legs up and tucking her right arm down beside Sonehso:wa with her hand under his shoulder. She rests her cheek on his chest and carefully puts her left arm over his stomach and her hand on his side. He pulls the blanket up and lifts his right leg over her bent legs, tucking his calf into the bend of her knees. They both settle themselves comfortably and Sonehso:wa drapes his left arm over Anika's back. He reaches up and strokes her face with his right hand, tucking her silky hair behind her ear and tracing her jaw with a finger.

Anika closes her eyes and is overcome by her emotions. How can she feel this way about a man she met days ago? She wants nothing more than to be with him forever. She doesn't care if no one accepts their relationship, as long as they are together. Nothing feels as right as when his arms are around her. He continues to lightly trace her jaw with his fingers and she sighs in contentment, hugging him as much as she can without hurting her shoulder excessively. Sonehso:wa tightens his arm across her back and bends slightly to kiss the top of her head, the muscles in his abdomen bunching under her arm as he does. With the lightest touch, he moves his hand from her face to her upper arm and then to her elbow. He shifts his body slightly under her, breathing deeply and Anika wants this moment to last forever; each sensation, every heartbeat, the smell of his skin and the warmth of their bodies together.


	14. Chapter 14

Return

**Author's note: Portions of this chapter have been removed to comply with the site's policy on explicit content. See my profile for the location of the unedited version.**

Sonehso:wa wakes to the sound of someone walking across the creaking floor of the house. Sunlight is streaming into the living room where he and Anika lie on the couch. He is surprised he slept so well, considering he is once again inside one of these thick-walled structures. Maybe it is the presence of the lovely, golden haired creature asleep on top of him that kept him so distracted from his usual concerns. His right foot is cold where it rests on the floor and Anika has shifted over so that her head lies on the side of his chest, almost dangling. Her hair spills from her head, some partially over his arm on her back, the rest in a magnificent halo that pools on his chest and flows off the side of the couch, split by her left arm where it hangs almost straight down towards the floor. Bruises surround the delicate bones at the upper, outer edge of her shoulder and travel in a wide stripe part way down the front of her arm in a jarring combination of dusky blues and purples, fading to brown and yellow on the edges. Her right hand is still between his side and the back of the couch. Sonehso:wa's left leg is numb from Anika's weight resting on his hip and his upper body is chilled where she is not in contact with him.

The footsteps seem to be coming from where he had originally been set up in the sitting room before he heard Anika dreaming in the night. They come toward the living room and Sonehso:wa turns his head toward the open door, his heart rate increasing. All his weapons are where he left them in the other room and he would have to push Anika off of him to defend them in any way. Isaac appears in the doorway and Sonehso:wa exhales in relief. The men regard each other and Isaac lowers Sonehso:wa's bedroll onto the floor near the fireplace. Inside the roll, he can see his weapons and bag. Isaac stokes the fire and eyes Sonehso:wa and Anika on the couch again with a mixture of amusement and sternness before shutting the door behind him with a click. Sonehso:wa raises his right hand and runs his fingers through his hair on the side of his head, willing his heart to slow down. Recalling the time he spent time with Isaac in this city, he wonders what the man is thinking, having witnessed him kiss his niece and now here he is with a lookalike of his daughter sprawled across him, both of them in a state of partial undress. Sonehso:wa pulls together his usual self confidence and reminds himself that Anika is _not _Isaac's daughter and he had no intentions of coming back to dally with Christie to begin with.

Anika stirs and bends her dangling left elbow up with a gasping wince. Sonehso:wa lowers his hand to her arm and helps her bring it up onto his chest as she sits back. He slides his hand down to hers and lightly strokes her fingers, stealing glances at her breasts from time to time. Her cotton shift, though opaque, is made of thin material and he can just make out the shape of her nipples through the fabric.

"How did you sleep?" she asks him.

"Well enough. I do not like being inside these kinds of places." He runs his fingers up and down her back and changes the subject.

"I cannot feel my leg anymore." He grins and presses his hand against the small of her back and hip when she tries to move off of him.

"I do not mind. Only because it is you." he laughs. Anika smiles and lowers her eyes to his chest. Skin the color of earthen pottery, smooth and unblemished, invites her to touch it as she pulls her right hand out from the side of the couch. With just her fingertips she makes contact with his left shoulder, following a slightly raised vein that runs the length of his upper arm under his skin. The skin on the underside of his arm is softer than she is expecting and she enjoys the feel of it as she brings her fingers back up to his shoulder. Hesitantly, she slides her hand diagonally down to his sternum, pushing a section of his hair along with her thumb. Stealing a glance up at Sonehso:wa's face, she finds him watching her intently, his lips bearing the faintest hint of a smile and his shadowed eyes meeting hers expectantly as if to say, "Why did you stop?" She slides her fingers to the side of his neck and takes the section of his hair she had been moving in her hand. When she turns her hand palm up, the black, shiny strands slip between her fingers and she runs them through the length of it, letting it fall across the pillow and beside his arm. Sonehso:wa breathes in deeply as she places her palm on his chest just above his dark nipple. His eyes close for a moment and his head relaxes back into the pillow, making the muscles in his neck stand out in a 'V' shape on either side of his throat. They meet at the pronounced dip between his curving collarbones and are crossed by his white, fitted necklace.

"Thank you," she whispers, looking up at him from below her eyelashes. Sonehso:wa lifts his head and opens his eyes, looking inquiringly at her.

"For what?" Anika lowers her face.

"For stopping those men and fixing my arm. For staying with me last night and…" A blush creeps over her face, flushing her neck and chest and Sonehso:wa understands her perfectly, amused by her shy embarrassment.

"Always, Jitkwa:'e." He moves his hand from her hip to the back of the couch and pulls himself up to a sitting position before taking her in his arms. A burst of prickling discomfort shoots down his leg at the movement and he curls his toes and flexes his foot in an effort to reduce the sensation and get blood back to his extremity. Anika rests her forehead against his neck but sighs as the sounds of the Young family moving about fill the house. Sonehso:wa kisses her head just behind her ear.

"It is better that we get up now. If I kiss you again, we would not leave this room for a very long time. I do not think Mr. and Mrs. Young would like that." he whispers, his lips grazing the edge of her ear. Anika gasps, excitedly scandalized at his tantalizing innuendo and pulls back to look at his face. His smirk is heavily suggestive and he laughs quietly in his throat at her narrow-eyed expression. She cannot help smiling back. The prospect of spending an extended period of time being intimate with him floods her body with the now familiar tingling warmth of desire. He reaches up to her face and traces a finger down her cheek and neck, across her collar bone to her shoulder and then down along the neckline of her shift, his fingertip just under the lacy edge of the fabric. When he crosses over the front of her breast, he slows down and Anika closes her eyes, willing him to stop and place his hand fully on her. When he moves on and takes his hand away she is left feeling wildly bereft. She sighs in disappointment.

"Later, Jitkwa:'e, when we have no one waiting for us." He brushes his lips over hers and slides himself backwards on the couch, pulling his leg out from behind her. The loose pants he is wearing do nothing to hide his arousal yet he shamelessly stands, walks to his mat and crouches down to unroll it and gather his usual clothing. His bare back and broad shoulders are lean and muscular, his hair only partly hiding the deep valley of his spine, the long muscles flanking it ending in two points just above his pants. Only when he approaches the door to the room and opens it does he lower his bundle of clothing to cover himself, leaving Anika alone to get dressed for the day. Once he has left, Anika raises her right hand to her chest and clasps the neckline of her shift, pressing her wrist hard against her breast. She leans against the couch and tips her head back, squeezing her thighs together in an unsuccessful attempt to control the urgent throbbing between her legs.

The dress Bethany had provided her, like the cotton shift she is wearing, is one of the remaining items she has of her daughter's. Unlike the shift, it is too tight. Anika is unable to close the buttons over her bust. With a sigh, she unbuttons it and pulls her arms out, letting the dress hang from her hips. She reaches behind her back, unties the upper lacing of her corset and takes a deep breath. When she lets it out, she holds it, tugging as hard as she can on the lacing and pulling it as tightly as her body and her injured shoulder will allow. By the time she has tied it again, she feels faint from holding her breath and her shoulder is burning. It takes a considerable amount of time for her to catch her breath with her lungs so restricted. When she tucks the laces away and tries the dress on again the buttons close up easily, without even a hint of strain. What a relief! Looking down at herself, Anika smoothes her hands over the material, admiring the fine lace edging on the sleeves and the crisp, slightly shiny quality of the dark, emerald green fabric. A subtle striping in the weave gives a flattering dimension to the dress. It is well made and though it is just a tiny bit too long for her, Anika finds it lovely. The delicate scent of dried flowers rises to her nose from the fabric. She wishes she could have known the woman who wore it last. She says a silent prayer for the soul of the dead woman.

Without a mirror, it is difficult for Anika to know if her hairstyle is satisfactory but she has styled it this way so often that her fingers know each section of plait and where it needs to be pinned. She runs her fingers over the part down the middle of her head and the coiled mass of braids pinned at the nape of her neck. It will have to do. With her left hand, she picks up a section of her skirts and pads barefoot over to the door. She opens it and the sounds of morning fill her ears; Bethany in the kitchen cooking, the slam of the back door and Isaac stomping his feet as he comes inside from doing household chores. The shriek of a child… That is unexpected. A red faced boy of about three or four is running toward her, his arms outstretched and a continuous shrill wail coming from him. He crashes into her legs as she walks down the hall and tries to climb her body, crying. Anika is stunned for a moment but then she bends down and the child throws his arms around her neck.

"Mama! Mama!" he screams into her chest. The sound of something clattering onto the floor comes from the kitchen and in Anika's peripheral vision, she catches sight of Bethany leaning her back against the counter, both of her hands covering her mouth. She is weeping and Isaac's face looks haggard as he slowly approaches them. Sonehso:wa comes into sight from another room and stops short, observing the scene in shocked silence. Anika meets his eyes across the distance and is confused until she remembers that the woman whose dress she is wearing was the Young's daughter. This must be… their grandson. Oh, what cruelty it must be for this child to see her in his mother's dress! Isaac kneels by her side and gently tries to extricate the boy from Anika.

"Ethan, come to Pappy, come to Pappy." The boy takes in an enormous, shuddering breath.

"Nooooooo!" The scream is guttural in its ferocity, seeming to come from deep in his belly, and it goes on forever as he clings to her, his nails digging into the skin of her neck and his eyes squeezed shut. It tapers off into gasping sobs and hiccups.

"It's alright, Mr. Young. Let him stay." She gathers the child up, supporting his weight under his bottom with her right arm and placing her left hand on his shoulders. Isaac helps her get to her feet. The boy wraps his legs around her waist and shoves his face into the corner of Anika's neck and right shoulder, his wet cheeks dampening her skin. His little body shakes as he tries to breathe and Isaac puts his hand on the boy's back, looking at Anika.

"He hasn't spoken a word, not a peep, since his parents died about a year ago. He cried for them for a while and one day, he just stopped." He passes a hand over his face, pulling on the end of his beard and looking toward his wife. She is wiping tears away with her apron and trying to regain control of herself. Turning back to Anika, he continues.

"We should have anticipated this last night. We should have tried to tell him… something. I don't know what, though. God. He thinks you're Sarah. What are we going to do?" He faces Bethany as she finally finds her composure and joins them in the hallway. Sonehso:wa seems to materialize by Anika's side. He must have tiptoed over, he was so quiet. He moves slightly behind Anika and Ethan raises his head from her shoulder to look at him.

Sonehso:wa gazes into the boy's large, brown eyes and once again is struck by the old soul looking back at him. Ethan extends his tightly closed fist from the back of Anika's neck, holding it out as he continues to pant and hiccup in her arms. Sonehso:wa brings his hand up to hold his fist but Ethan opens his fingers and the white bead drops into his palm. Sonehso:wa feels sick as he shakes his head and tries to give it back but the boy returns his hand to Anika, tucking his elbow down against her chest and burying his face in her neck again. When Sonehso:wa raises his head up from Ethan, both Isaac and Bethany are looking at him, their faces even more distraught than before. Raising the bead gravely in his hand, he is unsure what to do with it. He can't take it back. The reason he gave it to the boy still stands, even if Ethan thinks his mother has come back to him from the dead. This bead has sacred meaning now and it is anathema to repurpose such a thing. To his relief, Bethany holds her hand out for it and he gives it carefully to her. She closes her fingers around it and nods her head at him before tucking it into a pocket of her dress.

Isaac breaks the silence.

"I wish I did not have to go, but I must open the store. It is already late." He sighs and stares at his grandson. His wife rubs his arm.

"Go, then, Mr. Young. We will manage." She makes an effort to smile and he tries to say something but ends up just opening and closing his mouth. He touches Anika's unburdened shoulder lightly and gives her a weak smile and a small nod. To Sonehso:wa, he nods more firmly. Taking his overcoat, he stops at the door and turns back, hesitating. Bethany's forehead creases and she shakes her head. Nodding once again, as if he has made up his mind with determination, he opens the door, exits and shuts it without looking back. In the silence of the house, only the sounds of his receding footsteps and the snuffly breathing of the child can be heard. Anika shifts her feet and adjusts Ethan in her arms. His grasp tightens briefly around her neck.

"If I could sit down somewhere…" she says. Bethany seems to come awake.

"Yes, of course. Come into the dining room. I will make some tea. Are you hungry?" She moves her attention between her two guests.

"A little. Thank you, Mrs. Young." Anika is not hungry at all but for the sake of giving the flustered woman something to do, she acquiesces. Sonehso:wa pulls out a chair for Anika and she lowers herself carefully into it, making sure not to sit on either of Ethan's bare feet. They dangle from her hips and he slumps against her with a sigh, his bottom sticking out and his back arched. After his stressful experience, he seems to have exhausted himself. Sonehso:wa pulls a chair over from the end of the table and joins Anika, sitting with his knees facing her left side. He rests his left arm on the table and leans on it, watching Anika as she holds the boy in her lap and softly sings a lullaby her mother used to sing to her when she was small. She strokes Ethan's light brown, childish curls where they hang past his shoulders, the tie that had been holding them neatly now off to the side and snarled in a section of his hair. Anika works it free and places it on the table. She stops singing and looks at Sonehso:wa.

"What did you give to Mrs. Young?" she whispers.

"A bead. I gave it to Ethan when I was here before. I told him it was to remember his parents." He shakes his head.

"He gave it back to me. I cannot take it. It is for Sarah and her husband's spirits." Anika nods even though she does not understand his beliefs. She appreciates religious tradition and is a little fascinated by Sonehso:wa's foreign convictions. She tries to rationalize.

"Maybe… with time… I don't know. This is a tricky situation." Ethan heaves a sigh in his sleep, his arms slipping from Anika's neck and hanging from his shoulders. He turns his head on her breasts and then is still. Anika softly touches the pink, wrinkled skin of his scarred hand and resumes the soothing lullaby. Bethany emerges from the kitchen with a pot of tea and some mugs. She puts them on the table and then lowers herself to look at her sleeping grandson. She strokes his flushed, sweaty cheek lightly with her finger.

"My little angel. Who could imagine such a small thing could contain so much pain for so long?" She looks up at Anika.

"Bless you, my dear. Even though we have to tell him, at least he could have one last pleasant memory of his mother. God knows tis a mercy. A ship was taking passengers and cargo to New York and both Sarah and her husband Matthew were on it with Ethan to go visit some of Matthew's family in the city. Some kegs of powder caught fire somehow and exploded. Sarah and Matthew were both killed by the explosion but Ethan was thrown from Sarah's arms. A man saw it happen, took Ethan and jumped into the water with him before the entire ship caught fire. When we heard about it, we thought there was no hope but when we reached the farm where a makeshift hospital had been set up, there he was with his arm all wrapped up and a bandage on his head. I had hoped he would be too young to remember them..." Bethany's voice cracks and Anika does not know what else to do but put her arm around the woman's back.

Sonehso:wa meets Anika's eyes over Bethany's head. She is distressed by the story of Ethan's parents' deaths so he does his best to lend her his strength until Bethany wipes her eyes and stands. Pausing to touch her grandson's cheek again, she heaves a sigh and then looks at Anika.

"Bless you," she whispers again. Turning to Sonehso:wa, she smiles and briefly places her palm against his upturned face before leaving the room. Motherly affection pours in an unbridled torrent from the woman, sweeping up everyone in her presence. Sonehso:wa couldn't help feeling like a small boy again for a moment when she had touched him. When he resumes watching Anika she gives him a small smile, her verdant eyes turned up at him briefly from beneath her light eyebrows before she kisses the head of the boy on her breast, her hands couching his limp form. It is a compelling scene and something lurches in Sonehso:wa, taking him by surprise. What if this was her child… or theirs? Sonehso:wa shakes himself from his idle thoughts. They are far from making that kind of commitment to each other. Smiling inwardly, he thinks of the reaction of the tribe to his choice. After all his prejudice from his childhood, would anyone truly believe he would take a white woman as a wife? He would face endless ridicule from his few close friends. But once they met her they would understand why.

Anika watches Sonehso:wa from the corners of her eyes. He is slouched forward in the chair, his elbows resting on his thighs with his hands between his knees. He appears deep in thought, idly spinning his bracelets on his wrists over and over with his long fingers. The carved wooden pieces of jewelry make a quiet clicking sound as they move. A tiny quirk at the corners of his mouth hints at something amusing crossing his mind. Most of his hair hangs down on the left side of his body, subtly moving with the shifting of his arms as he continues to spin his bracelets. The long, black expanse of his hair is impressive; its shining length rivaling that of a woman's, yet not taking away from his masculinity at all. It appears he had taken time that morning while she was dressing to redo his braid. It is tight and neat, without any stray hairs escaping. Even his decorative feathers appear to have been carefully groomed. Anika has a strong desire to reach for his hair and feel its luxuriant softness in her fingers again. She does not have to resist for long. Bethany returns to the table with some warm scones in a basket, blackberry preserves and maple syrup, trumping any possibility to reach over. To her surprise, Anika's stomach rumbles and she finds herself hungrier now that the urgency of the situation has faded. Sonehso:wa gets up and gives his chair to Bethany so she can be near the child, moving to the seat across the table from Anika.

Ethan stirs while they are eating, rubbing his face against Anika's chest and squirming into a sitting position facing her. Sonehso:wa watches as Bethany stiffens, her uncertainty of how to handle the situation affecting her greatly. Anika surprises them both when she addresses Ethan, deliberately increasing her accent until it is even stronger than the Zenger's and making her words almost unrecognizable as English.

"Ah, the little boy has woken."

"Mama?" Ethan looks up at her, confused. Anika smiles and shakes her head.

"No. I am not your Mutti. I only look like her." Ethan squints hard at Anika, breathing rapidly; he appears close to crying. He looks down at Anika's hands on his legs and stares at the lace edging her wrists. Plucking at it with his fingers, he wrinkles his forehead in concentration and then turns to his grandmother.

"Where is Mama?" his high pitched, childish voice is frustrated. Bethany sighs and reaches to his arm.

"She died, Ethan. So did Papa. Mama and Papa are not coming home. Do you remember when Nana and Pappy told you that a long time ago?" Ethan nods his head, looking gravely up at Anika and studying her face. Bethany speaks on Anika's behalf.

"The nice lady who only looks like Mama is named Anika. She is from Germany. That is a country very far from here and very far from England. She is a friend of Sonehso:wa's. Do you remember him?" Bethany gestures across the table and Ethan twists to look at him, wobbling slightly in Anika's lap. He nods with a seriousness beyond his years.

"He gave me a shell."

"Yes," Bethany nods, reaching into her pocket and producing it. Holding it in the palm of her hand, she offers it to him and looks at Sonehso:wa. He leans forward over the table, resting his arms on it, and speaks in a gentle voice to the boy.

"That shell is sacred… holy?" He looks at Bethany and she nods her head and he carries on.

"Keep it, Ethan. It holds the spirit memory of your parents now." He nods at the boy and stretches his right hand toward Bethany's, tapping the bead with his finger to indicate that he should take it. Ethan stretches his scarred hand out and picks up the bead, closing his fist tightly around it and bringing it to his chest. Taking one last look up at Anika, as if to be absolutely certain she is not his mother, he climbs off her lap and onto Bethany's.

"Oh, my sweet baby! I love you so much." Bethany croons, holding the boy close and kissing his head. Anika, Sonehso:wa and Bethany all share silent looks of relief that the conversation did not end up in horrible tears and trauma.

"Love you, Nana," Ethan mumbles into Bethany's bosom, and Anika struggles not to cry at the touching scene. Bethany is not so successful and allows herself the luxury of weeping for the return of her grandson's voice after so long. Anika quietly stands and Sonehso:wa joins her when she moves to the living room to give Bethany some time. She gathers the items Bethany had provided for her to repair her dress and takes a seat on the couch to work. Sitting side by side, they are silent as Anika sews, listening to the quiet conversation Bethany is having with Ethan. Sonehso:wa lounges back on the couch, watching her work and rattling the buttons Anika has removed in his cupped hand. When she has replaced all her buttons with the small silver ones she was given, including the ones still on the dress for the sake of uniformity, she returns the needle and thread to the sewing box. Tapping one of the small built in compartments on the inside edge, she looks at Sonehso:wa and he pours the small black buttons from his hand into it. On the bottom, a spool of black ribbon catches her eye. Measuring a length of it along her forearm, she lifts the ornate pair of antique chatelaine scissors she had been using and cuts it. She looks up at Sonehso:wa.

"For Ethan's bead. He can wear it around his neck and he will never lose it." Sonehso:wa sits forward.

"Should we give it to him now?" he asks. Anika pauses and listens. Bethany is laughing so Anika nods and stands, setting her dress aside. Back in the dining room, Ethan is sitting in the chair Anika had vacated. He looks up at them when they enter. Bethany smiles and Anika bends down in front of the boy. She speaks with her normal accent, not wanting to deceive the child any longer.

"I brought you something." She holds up the length of ribbon and glances at Bethany in a silent plea for permission. Bethany smiles, giving her approval.

"This is for your bead, so you can wear it as a necklace… Like Sonehso:wa. Would you like that?" Ethan nods and opens his hand holding the bead. Anika reverently takes it and strings it onto the ribbon. She reaches up and ties it around his neck, settling the bead against his chest. He looks down at it, touches it with his hands and then gets off the chair to hug Anika.

"What do you say, Ethan?" Bethany coaches.

"Thank you, Nika."

"You're welcome, Ethan." He moves to Sonehso:wa, hugging his leg before he can bend down.

"Thank you, Sosowa." In the typical style of a child, he wanders away, climbing the stairs one at a time and disappearing around a corner when he reaches the second floor. Bethany stands and takes one of their hands in each of hers.

"It's a miracle. Thank you both for being so wonderful."

"He is a brave boy. He reminds me of Raton… Connor sometimes." Bethany smiles.

"If he grows up to be like Connor then we will be happy indeed." Anika digests Bethany's words, feeling even more confident that Cat is in good hands. She respects the Young's and finds them to be good people. Their opinion of Connor is high and Anika stores it away for the times when she worries about Cat. Even now, knowing they still have days of travel before they reach her, she feels her anxiety starting to claw at her heart. She stuffs it down and tries to keep her stress from breaking free and showing itself on her face while Bethany is talking.

"Mr. Young and I were thinking that when Ethan is older, we should send him to New York or Boston to be trained. I would hate to see him go but Mr. Young says it would be good for the boy to have that kind of discipline starting at a young age. Now I see the wisdom in it." Sonehso:wa is nodding, looking serious but Anika has no idea what Bethany is talking about.

As Anika helps Bethany gather up the things from the table, Sonehso:wa passes through the kitchen to start packing up their things in living room. He had considered spending another night at the Young's but he is more inclined now to continue on to the cabin. They are not getting any closer staying here. Anika's shoulder seems to be less stiff as long as she keeps moving it and she does not favor it as much. When he is at the door to the living room, he pauses, turning to talk with the women and resting his hands on the sides of the doorframe.

"Mrs. Young, we should get some things from Mr. Young's store today."

"That's fine, Sonehso:wa. Whatever you need." Turning to face Anika, he continues.

"I think we should keep going." Anika nods and continues to dry the plate she is holding. Her trust in him appears to be absolute. He had not intended to present his opinion as the only option but rather as a way for her to express her thoughts on the matter. She should not be afraid to speak up if she wants to wait longer; she is not his to command. Rather than bring up his concerns in front of Mrs. Young, he waits for Anika to meet his eyes and then tilts his head in the direction of the living room behind him before turning and entering the room.

Sonehso:wa has organized his bedroll and weapons neatly and folded the blanket by the time Anika enters the living room. Shutting the door behind her, she approaches Sonehso:wa where he kneels on the floor by the fireplace. He stands when she comes closer and takes her arms in his hands, holding her away from him so he can look at her. Her hair is prettily braided and the way she has it styled keeps it so not even one hair escapes to cover her face. Despite the intricate work she put into it, he prefers it down and flowing around her. If it were free right now, he would take it in his fingers and fondle it. One hand drifts upwards and he touches the tightly coiled braid at the side of her neck. Her beauty has distracted him from the reason he asked her to come to him.

"Jitkwa':e, do you want to stay here another night? I did not mean to decide for you." Anika shrugs her shoulders.

"If you think we should go, then we should go." Sonehso:wa moves his hand so his thumb is on the side of her cheek.

"That is not what I asked of you." Anika smiles at his persistence.

"I want to get to Cat. As much as I like being under a solid roof again, I miss her and I won't fully believe she's alive until I see her. Does that answer your question?" Sonehso:wa squints at her.

"In a way. It is very indirect. Do not be afraid to tell me what you want. I will not make you go if you want to stay another night." Anika laughs at his sudden seriousness. It is out of character and so very unlike his usual sass and sarcasm. She puts both hands on his stomach and pushes him. He staggers backwards a step, a look of surprise on his face.

"This is coming from the man who coerced me with his friends to leave New York a week ago." Sonehso:wa squares his shoulders.

"We did not coerce you! It was to protect you…" Sonehso:wa is defensive until he sees Anika struggling to contain her laughter. A squeak escapes her and she covers her mouth with both hands to hold it in. Sonehso:wa shakes his head at her, laughing heartily. Anika extends her right hand toward him and he takes it, allowing her to pull him closer. Sonehso:wa does not stop when he reaches her. Guiding her backwards with his left hand on her hip, he advances until her legs touch the couch. He kisses her deeply and she drops onto the couch, pulling on his shirt with both of her hands so he is leaning over her. Without stopping their kiss, he places his left knee between the back of the couch and her hips and lowers her down onto the cushions, his forearms on either side of her. When they finally separate, Anika is out of breath, her tightly laced corset making it difficult to breathe. Panting, she tries to talk.

"Sonehso:wa… we shouldn't… the other door is open… Someone could see us!" In answer, Sonehso:wa reaches above her head and takes her dress from where it still lies over the arm of the couch, balls it up and throws it at the partially open door. It makes contact with a dull thud and swings it shut just enough for the latch to click. Bringing his right knee up, he nudges her left leg until she takes her feet off the floor and lies completely on the couch. Taking a brief glimpse down between their bodies, Sonehso:wa uses his knee to drag her skirt up before placing it on the couch between her legs. The green fabric is bunched over his leg and Anika's ankles and the inner sides of her calves are exposed. She tenses beneath him and her breathing is more rapid then ever. Her hands are clenched tightly on his shirt and she stares at his face. Suddenly she pulls on him, lifting her head from the couch to meet his lips. As they kiss, Sonehso:wa reaches his right hand down from beside her face, running his hand over her tightly corseted body. He can feel nothing of her soft curves he had admired earlier, the only surface reaching his fingers being the rigid bone stays of her corset running in long, hard lines down her torso. Longing to feel the softness of her flesh on his fingers, he moves lower, his hand becoming lost in the endless yards of fabric surrounding her legs. He works at gathering it upwards against her left leg as Anika's panting breaths turn into gasps that he muffles with his lips until finally, his hand comes into contact with the warm, smooth skin of her thigh. Taking a moment, he reaches down and traces his fingers from just above her knee up along the inner side of her thigh.

Anika feels faint from not being able to breathe fully. Every touch from Sonehso:wa is fire on her skin and she wants it all but is afraid much more will make her pass out from her corseted misery. As his fingers move higher on her thigh, the most exquisite surges of need and waves of warmth emanate from her body, moving along her nerves and coalescing deep in her pelvis. She feels as if thousands of glowing, silver threads are being pulled tightly between her breasts and the throbbing heat between her legs. His fingers move incrementally higher and it is nothing other than the purest, most beautiful torture when he finally brushes them over the top of her pubis. He strokes her there, slowly moving his fingers through her hair and smiling against her mouth with an eager sound as he continues to kiss her lightly.

Her hidden patch of hair is crinkly against his fingers and he loves the texture of it. Anticipating her reaction, Sonehso:wa shifts his body upwards slightly to kiss her deeply as he lowers his fingers until he feels the soft division of her flesh. Her body twitches and then bucks when he presses his middle finger down. His mouth stifles her cry. Keeping pressure against her center, he slides his finger lower and Anika takes two handfuls of his hair and pulls his face against hers, using his kiss to contain a small scream. He feels her body shaking and he has to work at controlling his hand so he can draw out her pleasure as long as possible.

He touches her with the lightest pressure he can manage while Anika's body convulses at the contact. She throws her head back, escaping his mouth and Sonehso:wa moves his finger from direct contact, afraid she is going to cry out from too much stimulation. Instead she clenches her teeth and squeezes her eyes shut. The sight of her restraint is intoxicating and he wishes they were alone in the house so he could push her beyond her control and make her scream. The moment Anika stops arching her head back he quickly recaptures her lips, bringing his left hand to her right shoulder to keep her from inadvertently breaking away again. He holds her tightly with his hand and the left side of his body on top of hers as she spasms beneath him. She bends her knees up and traps his right leg and hand between her thighs and Sonehso:wa uses fixed pressure against her, riding out her aftershocks and feeling her pelvic muscles contracting beneath his hand. When her body falls limply to the couch and her hands tumble from his hair, he takes his hand from beneath her skirts and lifts his head to stare at her flushed face. He is slightly out of breath himself and the knowledge that he will be unable to relieve his exceptionally hard erection the traditional way is making him sweat.

In the wake of the rolling waves of the most extreme pleasure Anika had ever experienced, her body feels weak and boneless. Even on the few occasions when she had been alone in her bed and had touched herself, she had never brought such uncontrollable paroxysms to her body. The peaks she had experienced those other times paled in comparison to what Sonehso:wa had just done to her. Still out of breath, she tries to raise her head to look at him. He is watching her with a satisfied smile on his face, his skin shining slightly with a sheen of sweat and his eyes a sultry black. Anika only gets a glance before a searing headache forces her to drop her head onto the couch again with a gasp. The pain passes when her head is flat and comes raging back the moment she attempts to raise it again. She lifts her hand to her head and waits, using the time to slowly catch her breath.

The sight of Anika so spent beneath him is incredibly satisfying and Sonehso:wa wishes he could spend forever bringing her to this point over and over again. He wants to expend himself in her, feeling her pleasure from the inside. No doubt she would have enjoyed it even more if she were not ensnared in that wicked contraption she seems so fond of wearing. He is unable to see how it is comfortable, especially with how difficult it seems to make her breathing. Maybe he can take it from her and fling it into the fire when she is not looking.

Anika and Sonehso:wa sit up and Anika leans on his shoulder, her hands folded in her lap in a deceptively calm fashion, still catching her breath slightly.

"That was… like nothing I have felt before…" Sonehso:wa puts his arm around her and kisses her when she looks up at him. A few stray hairs and her rumpled skirts reveal clues to their liaison but otherwise, there is no incriminating proof of it. If Bethany were to walk in, they would look as if they are having an intimate conversation.

"I am happy you enjoyed it. But that would only have been the beginning if we were alone." Anika kisses him for his sensual suggestion. Coming from any other man, it would have sounded lewd but from him, it's just a statement of fact. It would seem he is not a virgin by any stretch of the imagination. He appeared to know all too well what to do but for some reason she just doesn't care.

It is not much later, when Anika has picked up her dress she had just repaired from the floor, when Bethany knocks on the door and opens it. Sonehso:wa is rolling up his blanket into the bedroll and Anika is by the fireplace shaking out her shawl.

"Anika, I was wondering if you would want to take Ethan with you when you go to the store. Mr. Young would probably be tickled to hear him talk." Anika turns and faces the woman.

"Of course, Mrs. Young. It will be my pleasure." Sonehso:wa lowers his face to his task and smirks, thinking that he knows what is really her pleasure.

Ethan skips ahead of Anika as she walks along the road toward the Young's store, his curls neatly tied back once again and bouncing as he runs. Bethany had given her a close fitting cap to cover her golden hair but it doesn't quite hide her coiled braids. Anika isn't worried about being recognized but had agreed that caution is a wise path to follow. Sonehso:wa had suggested she choose another name, as well. After some thought, Anika had decided on her mother's name, Hanna. Though the spelling is different, no one would know that. It sounds the same as the English spelling and that is what matters. She had even done her best performance of Cat's way of speaking, imitating her accent perfectly. Sonehso:wa had looked at her strangely, for she had apparently sounded just like her. The memory of his expression makes her laugh quietly to herself as she walks. It feels good to be walking among crowds of people again. She wants to turn and look at Sonehso:wa where he follows several paces behind her but it would draw too much attention. It is better for people not to know they are together.

Anika catches up to Ethan when they reach the door to the store. He had discovered something interesting on the ground just outside it and is squatting down looking at it.

"What is it, Ethan?" Anika asks the boy and he holds up a nail from a horse shoe.

"Nail!" he states, proudly.

"What a find! Let's show it to your Pappy." Anika takes Ethan's hand and opens the door. Mr. Young looks up from his books where he stands behind the counter from a customer. He smiles at Anika and Ethan and returns to the business he was attending to. Anika leads Ethan around the shop, browsing at the goods that are for sale. She thinks on their trip and wonders what she should bring, knowing it all has to fit in Sonehso:wa's bag and not be too heavy or cumbersome. Several minutes pass, yet Sonehso:wa does not come in after them. Anika wonders what is keeping him, but assumes he is just making an effort not to be seen with her. Mr. Young's customer concludes his business and he waves them over with a smile. Anika lets go of Ethan's hand and he runs to his grandfather.

"Nail! Nail!" he shouts and Isaac scoops the child up in his arms with a jolly laugh.

"So it is, my boy, so it is. You have found your voice for good, it seems, eh?"

"Yes, Pappy." Anika draws near the counter and Isaac smiles at her.

"This is incredible! Anika, I… I have no words!" He laughs at the irony and Anika lays her hand on his arm with a smile.

"Call me Hanna here. And yes, it is a wonderful thing that has happened today! I'm so happy for you both, and Ethan, of course. He took it really well when Mrs. Young explained the truth to him."

"That's great news, Hanna." He emphasizes her alias and gives her a wink.

"Why don't you look around some more and just let me know what you want?"

"Thank you." Anika returns to browsing and Isaac sits Ethan on the counter while he waits for any other customers to come in. There is the sound of raised voices outside and Isaac lowers Ethan onto the floor behind the counter, directing him to stay there. Anika is at the far corner of the store when the door bangs open and several men dressed similarly in grey and black uniforms enter the store. The Martinez family crest adorns the left chest of each one in gold thread. Anika's heart drops and she spins to face the wall, feigning interest in the jars of preserves on the shelf. How could Sergio's men have found her? Did they see Sonehso:wa? What if they harmed him or took him into custody? A million terrifying thoughts careen through her head.

"There! Look at her hair; what luck." The men approach her and Isaac raises his voice.

"You best leave my daughter alone or I swear there will be Hell to pay!" He reaches behind the counter and appears to be resting his hand on a weapon.

"What are you going to do about it?" Two of the men round the counter and stand blocking Isaac's way out from behind it, holding pistols pointed at him. Isaac raises his hands in the air. The other three approach Anika where she stands clutching a jar of concord grape preserves to her chest and doing her best to look frightened and confused. It isn't far from how she is really feeling. One of the men grabs her arm and uses his other hand to lift her chin up so he can see her face.

"Green eyes, too. What's your name?" Anika is shaking but she affects Cat's Londoner accent when she responds.

"P-please, sirs, my name is Hanna. Please do not harm me!"

"Unhand my daughter!" Isaac roars from behind the counter. The man with his hand on her arm drags her from the shelves and pushes her toward the counter a few steps. One of the other men mumbles to him in Spanish, but Anika understands what he says.

"She doesn't have a German accent. Why cause more trouble? It isn't her."

"I'll cause trouble if I want to." Is his flippant response. He faces Isaac and roughly takes Anika's face in his hand, turning it toward the counter.

"This pretty face of hers is of interest to us. That and her green eyes and blonde hair." He pointedly looks down at her body with a vulgar sneer as he speaks.

"Rather coincidental that we are looking for a woman with those features accompanied by an Indian, and there's an Indian outside with a few newly broken ribs, I wager." Anika's eyes widen and Isaac almost imperceptibly shakes his head at her, his expression telling her not to panic. At that moment, Ethan bursts from behind the counter, dodging a grab by one of the men standing at the end. He screams at the man holding Anika and pummels his leg with his fists.

"No! I love her! Go away!" The man holding her releases Anika's face to swat at the boy. Anika's heart races that they will harm him.

"Ethan, stay away!" Somehow, she manages to maintain her feigned accent.

"No!" Dodging the man's swat, he takes two handfuls of Anika's skirt and clings to her. When one of the other men reaches down to drag him away, Anika shouts at him.

"Don't you dare touch him!" She smashes the glass jar of preserves on his head. Blood and sticky grape preserves run down his face and he raises his hands to his head, screaming.

The man holding Anika slaps her and shoves her away. She crouches down and takes Ethan in her arms, pressing his face to her chest to keep him from seeing the bloody man. Only then does the boy's bravery leave him and he bursts into tears.

"Forget it, it's not her, she didn't have a brat. Let's go." The leader calls off his men holding Isaac at gunpoint and drags their injured comrade out. He is swearing and hurling threats at Anika in Spanish, thinking she doesn't know the vile things he promises to do to her if he ever finds her alone.

As soon as the men leave, Isaac runs to Anika and Ethan and takes them both in his arms. Broken glass litters the floor and the purple preserves are seeping into the floorboards. The sound of galloping horses indicates that the men are truly gone.

"I had no idea it was this bad. If I had known, I would have insisted you stay at the house." The door bangs open again and Sonehso:wa stumbles in holding his right side with his left hand. His nose and mouth are bleeding and the left side of his body is covered in dirt but he only has eyes for Anika. He stops when he sees that there is no one left in the place but the three of them.

"Sosowa!" Ethan shrieks, seeing the blood coming from him and panicking.

"He's alright, Ethan." Isaac restrains the child as Anika rises to her feet and goes to him. Isaac calls to her.

"Go in the back room; get out of sight in case they come back." Anika leads Sonehso:wa behind the counter and through the door into the back as Isaac moves to the door and locks it, flipping his sign around.

Lighting a lantern with the flame of another, Anika brings it close to Sonehso:wa's face where he is leaning against a crate. Wiping some of the blood away with her fingers, she sees that most of it is coming from his nose. The left side of his upper lip is starting to swell and it appears that his teeth had punctured it when he had been hit.

"I am fine, Jitkwa':e. It is you I am worried about. Did they hurt you? Your cheek is red." His speech is slightly garbled from his swollen lip.

"It was just a slap. I'm unharmed. You're not." She brings the lantern to Sonehso:wa's side where he is still holding his hand against it. He resists her attempts to lift his shirt or move his hand until she glares at him. He slowly moves his hand away and Anika slides his shirt up. Two identical half moon shaped marks darken his skin one below the other. They are clear imprints of the front of a booted foot and the area is already starting to swell. Anika sucks in her breath and looks at Sonehso:wa's face, placing the lantern on the crate beside him.

"What happened?"

"I was leaning against the wall of the building and they rode up on their horses. As soon as they dismounted they attacked me. Not a word was said before one of them walked up and punched me. I dove partly behind where the horses were tied so they had a hard time reaching me. This would have been a lot worse if they had gotten me out in the open."

"Dammit!" Anika kicks the crate Sonehso:wa is sitting on, her face reddened in rage. He extends his hand to her but she crosses her arms over her body and paces away.

"You could have been anyone. How many other Indian men have they attacked? How many other women with my hair and eyes have they terrorized? They were Sergio's men; they were looking for us. I recognized the insignia on their uniforms. They held a gun to Mr. Young and I'm sure if I hadn't hit that one with the jar…." She is crying by the end of her tirade, thinking of the horror Cat must have gone through as the captive of men like that. Where does Sergio find these people?

"Anika." Anika spins to face the door, her hands in fists against her sides. Isaac is standing in the doorway holding Ethan. When she approaches him, he places his hand on her shoulder.

"You did well back there. Sonehso:wa." Isaac looks intently at each of them in turn.

"I want you both to stay here until it's dark. I'm leaving my shop closed for the rest of the day. Do not go near the windows; do not leave. I'll get your things from the house and bring them to you. Once the streets have emptied, you are to leave the city under the cover of night. I will take no chances of something else happening."

"What if they are watching this place?" Sonehso:wa questions Isaac.

"There is a door in the back that connects to the next building. I will ask the owner if we can use it. I know he won't refuse me."

The afternoon passes slowly. Isaac had left shortly after their conversation, taking Ethan and locking the door behind him. He had cleaned up the mess on the floor but the stain on the floorboards remains. A few customers had knocked on the door or peered through the windows, ignoring the closed sign but each one had given up after only a short time. The sliver of sunlight that stretches into the storage room from the partially opened door shifts over the floor and casts longer and longer shadows as the sun lowers toward the horizon. Sonehso:wa lies stretched on the floor, his chest growing tighter as the bruises on his side continue to swell and ache. Anika does her best to make him comfortable, bringing him a folded horse blanket to rest his head on and cleaning the blood off his face. At first he had refused to lie down, insisting he felt fine but after he sneezed from the dust in the back room and Anika saw his clenched teeth, she made him, knowing he only did it because she bade it. If she had given him the choice, he would have remained on his feet. She gathers a few things for their travels while they wait, collecting them together on top of the crate in a small pile. It is mostly dried meats and cheese. They have nothing to cook in and bringing anything to do so would only make their load heavier and unwieldy. After staring at the pile for over an hour, she adds a small bar of soap, knowing it is a luxury that will take up precious space.

When the sky is full of stars and the sounds of pedestrian traffic has stilled to almost nothing, the loud grating of the key turning in the door startles Anika from her nap. Lifting her head from where it had been resting on her arms, she watches as Sonehso:wa gingerly rises to his feet beside her, a grimace on his face and his hand over his side. Isaac meets him at the door carrying his bag and another in his hands.

"I brought your things. Bethany insisted that I give you some of Sarah's clothes. She offers her best wishes to you both and is very upset about what happened. Ethan was pretty shaken up but he's still talking."

"Thank you, Mr. Young. Your kindness will not be forgotten." Sonehso:wa takes the bags from Isaac, crossing the strap of his over his chest so the bag rests on his left hip. Anika takes the other bag full of clothes from him before he can loop it onto his body as well.

"Is that all you're taking with you?" Isaac eyes the collection of food on the crate with skepticism.

"When we are farther from the city, there will be more animals to hunt. It will be enough." Sonehso:wa assures him as he loads the items into his bag and ties it shut.

"Don't be proud, son. That injury will slow you down." Anika steps closer and lays a hand on Sonehso:wa's arm.

"We'll manage, I am sure, Mr. Young."

"If you insist. I don't want you starving on the way. Though Connor will probably want to kill me anyway when he finds out I failed him."

"You had no choice. Ratonhnhake:ton will not want to kill you."

"It's a manner of speaking, Sonehso:wa. Well, this isn't how I had planned on sending you off. Follow me." Isaac leads them to the back corner of the storage room with one of the lanterns and moves some heavy crates aside so he can access a hatch low in the wall. Producing an old key, he unlocks it and hauls it open on its rusty hinges. He reaches inside with a second key and turns another lock. The door won't budge. Sitting back, he extends his legs and kicks the door. It shifts open a few inches.

"Heh, Colin said he wasn't sure if he had anything heavy in front of it. I guess he did." He gives the door a few more kicks until it is open enough to crawl through. When his feet disappear, Anika frowns and hikes her skirts up indecently over her knees and scrambles through, trying to keep the dress from dragging through the layers of dust. Sonehso:wa goes through last, getting to his feet slowly. His face is expressionless and Anika wants to weep for his concealed pain. While Isaac is unlocking the door to the outside, Anika takes his right arm in her hands and squeezes it, kissing his shoulder. Sonehso:wa covers her hand with his and attempts to smile for her sake but it falls flat.

Outside, the air is chilly and their breath mists as they breathe. The grey horse is tied up in the alley between two buildings, Sonehso:wa's sleeping mat and blanket already lashed to the back. He wordlessly walks to the horse and removes his bag, holding his hand toward Anika for her to give him hers as well. She complies and he goes about securing them to the horse. When he is done, Isaac approaches him.

"I know you two will be fine. Take care of her, son, she really is like a daughter to us now. I hope we can see you both again under better circumstances." Isaac looks fondly at Anika and she lowers her head, embarrassed. Sonehso:wa nods and mounts the horse, somewhat less gracefully than he usually does. As Anika holds out her hands to Isaac to bid him farewell, the man takes her in his arms and hugs her instead.

"Mr. Young, you and your wife have been so kind. Thank you."

"My dear, we should be thanking you. You gave us back our grandson. For that, we're in your debt forever. Sarah would have liked you." His voice is choked and Anika kisses him on his bearded cheek. Isaac guides her to the horse with his hand on her elbow and then lifts her up behind Sonehso:wa. The green dress covers her legs better than her blue dress had, and Anika has little trouble adjusting her skirts quickly. She tucks her shawl around her shoulders and smiles down at Isaac.

"Give Ethan a kiss for me, Mr. Young. Tell him I'll miss him."

"I will. Now go!" Sonehso:wa nods at his command and Anika puts her hands on the sides of his waist, being careful not to touch anywhere near his injured ribs. The horse seems eager to go and leaps into motion the moment Sonehso:wa gives him his heels.

The skies are cloudy, dark and threatening rain, making Sonehso:wa anxious. Since leaving Albany several days ago, the weather had held and the temperature had been brisk but not frigid. The nights had been colder but nothing like what they had experienced on the way out of New York. The first night after leaving Albany had been the most difficult for him. His body had protested every movement, and there were many, he came to realize. So used to riding horses, he had been unaware of just how many of the muscles in his side were essential to balancing on a moving animal. When they had finally stopped to rest for a few hours, he dreaded what the morning would bring. His fears were not unfounded. From the moment he woke, his side was on fire. Anika insisted on looking at his injuries that morning and he had reluctantly given in to her request knowing she would not like what she saw. The bruises had darkened and spread, covering almost all of the side of his chest from just under his armpit to halfway down his waist and the two places where he had been kicked were nearly black. His skin was unnaturally puffy and the lines of his ribs and muscles had become indistinct or obliterated completely by the swelling. Anika had merely frowned once and turned away but he knew the sight disturbed her greatly.

As the days had passed, the swelling had mercifully gone down, giving him the most relief to his discomfort. He found himself more interested in talking instead of using all his energy to contain any outward display of his agony. His bruising had dissipated into a large ring of discoloration defining the outer borders of his original area of swelling, the center still marked by darker blotches and two persistent, hard lumps under his skin. It only hurt if he actively touched them, so he avoided doing anything that would press against his side. Isaac had been correct in predicting that his injuries would limit his ability to hunt. For three days, he had not been able to shoot anything with accuracy. The act of pulling his bowstring was excruciating and it made him sweaty and unfocused when he felt a grating movement in his side as his muscles worked. He had probed the area with his fingers, nearly faint with pain, and had determined that at least two or three ribs had been damaged. It angered him that he could not provide for Anika as a man should, having to rely on their supplies more heavily than he had anticipated. It would be better for him to be dead than useless. Anika had been patient with him, putting up with his silence and irritation with poise and compassion. She made sure to be careful where she put her hands while riding and whenever she had kissed him she never forgot to avoid the area where his lip had been cut.

With the clouds comes a light drizzle that permeates the air like mist. It settles into every surface, chilling them both even when they walk beside the horse. Sonehso:wa knows they are within only a couple days of the cabin at most and after being away for so long, he finds himself anxious to be back. The raw weather wears on their patience with each other with its inconvenience and Anika shivers with a sigh behind him. As if it were a cue, the skies open up, letting loose a deluge of rain. Sonehso:wa laughs cynically and shakes his head. Anika rests her head on his back and pulls on his wrap with a loud exclamation of frustration. Only a short time later the partially collapsed cabin Sonehso:wa had seen before comes into sight through the trees. Though there are still hours remaining in the day, he steers the grey horse toward it.

"We will stop here and take shelter until the rain stops."

"Oh, thank GOD!" Anika groans.

The uncollapsed side of the cabin is filled with leaves and broken furniture. The other side is completely inaccessible where the roof is in ruins. A rivulet of water pours steadily from a section of the rotted roof on the corner of the chimney in the destroyed section of the cabin and splashes onto the floor near the entrance, running in a small stream out the front of the cabin. An old bed sits in the corner of the structure, its sagging mattress littered with leaves and the evidence of animal occupation. Sonehso:wa crouches by the fireplace, stacks pieces of broken furniture and dried leaves together and works at getting a fire started. Anika takes the seat of a ruined chair and scrapes the scattered debris and windblown leaves together, clearing the area as much as possible and dragging it closer to the fireplace to be used for fuel. Once that is done, she inspects their supplies. Everything is soaked, with the exception of the inner area of the bedroll and blanket from being rolled up. By the time Sonehso:wa has a fire going, she has spread out most of the wettest things to dry around the room and has taken off her sodden boots. Sonehso:wa moves back from the fire when it is crackling and consuming the bits of furniture, casting off welcome heat. Anika hunches on the mat before the young fire. Her hair is soaking wet and she has her arms wrapped around her body. A steady draft of chilly air blows through the doorway next to the chimney so Sonehso:wa drags the musty, straw filled mattress off the bed and over to the opening, leaning it up against the cracked frame to keep in the warmth. He takes off his boots, weapons and wrap, checking the integrity of his bow string and distributing the items near the fire to dry.

They sit side by side and wring out their hair, sharing a smile as the drops splash onto the hearth. Anika had traded the green dress with its need for her to be tightly laced into her corset for her old blue dress that actually fits her body correctly on the first night. She had considered trying on some of Sarah's other things but had changed her mind, assuming they would all be slightly too small for her. With days of travel ahead of her, the thought of being so tightly laced the entire time had brought on a wave of anxiety. Immediately discarding the thought, she had simply loosened her corset to its normal place and pulled on the blue dress. Now the blue dress is soaking wet and she faces no other option for dry clothing. Rising to her feet, she turns her back to the fire and starts unbuttoning her dress. The wet fabric is heavy and it sticks to her arms as she pulls it off. When she pushes it down past her hips, if falls to the floor with a sloppy sound. She steps out of it and pushes it away with her foot.

Anika sighs and reaches behind her back to tighten her corset. It, too, is soaked and the knots in the strings have become swollen and tight. She blindly gropes at the knots, picking at them with her fingernails. She hears Sonehso:wa move on the mat by the fire and then his warm hands are on hers, moving her fingers from the ties as he takes her in his arms, pulling her back against his body.

"Why do you wear this thing? It changes your body and traps you inside of it."

"I have to wear it."

"Cat does not wear one." Anika gasps.

"How do you know?"

"She wears hides like me. And like Ratonhnhake:ton. Not things like this." He lifts her skirt slightly by her hip.

"I would be a spectacle if I didn't wear these clothes."

"Maybe I do not understand the custom of women wearing such restrictive clothing. I prefer seeing you as you really are, not tied up in this." He tugs on the bottom of her corset before moving his hands to her waist and stepping backwards. Lifting his fingers to the strings in the middle of her back, he starts untying the knots. As he loosens the strings, he brings his face closer to her and kisses her on her cheek before moving to her neck. Anika has her hands on her stomach, holding the corset against her body the way she used to when Cat would help her get into and out of it. With one hand, Sonehso:wa lowers her hands from her stomach and pulls up on the back of the corset with the other. Anika raises her arms and lets him take it off of her. He drops it on the mat and turns her around to face him with his hands on her hips.

"That is better. Look at you... Perfect." Anika looks down at herself. Her shift is dry where her corset had been and she does feel better when she can take a deep breath. Sonehso:wa is watching her with a smile when she looks up at him and his hands massage her hips. Her body remembers the last time he looked at her in such a way and it responds to his touch with an electrifying burst of warmth where his fingers had brought her to such heights of pleasure once before. She steps closer to him and brings her arms up around his neck. He pulls her hips tightly against him and kisses her softly, taking his time and very slowly adding to the intensity until Anika is pulling on his neck. Sonehso:wa steps back and removes his belts, dropping them on the floor and taking his shirt off, depositing it beside them carelessly. His movements are still stiff but he tries to hide it from her. Anika's eyes are drawn to his side and she touches the bruises lightly with the fingers of her left hand.

"Stop that." Sonehso:wa whispers, gently taking her fingers in his right hand and bringing them to his mouth. He kisses each of them and then moves her palm to his cheek. With his left hand, he reaches to her wet hair and pulls a section forward over her shoulder. It is darker in its dampened state but no less beautiful to him. He wants to see all of her, so he takes the string on the neckline of her shift between her breasts and pulls the bow out. Anika drops her arm to her side and watches his face as he pulls on each section of lacing, her breathing rapid and expectant. When her shift is hanging loosely from her, he reaches his hands to her shoulders and slides the straps off of them. His fingers trace the curves of her collarbones and then sink to her breasts. As he caresses and cups them in his hands he kisses her, his lips moving from her mouth to her jaw. He curls his fingers over the neckline of her opened shift and slowly drags it down. With every inch revealed, he kisses his way down her neck and chest to her breasts. Once her shift clears the fullest part of her breasts, it falls easily to her hips.

Anika cannot believe that she is letting him strip her naked. She should be abashed at her wanton behavior but she is not. This is what she wants and there is no one left to judge her. One of the only people she cares about is far from everything she knows and the other is kneeling before her, his lips roving over her breasts and his hands caressing every exposed inch of her skin. He is gentle and caring, his eyes turning upwards to her face now and then as he gives her the most extraordinary new sensations with his touch and tongue. Standing up, he pulls her to him and kisses her mouth, the new feeling of her body against his, skin to skin, sparking pleasant chills down her spine. He leads her over to the mat and stops kissing her to guide her to a sitting position on it. As he kneels over her, he runs his right hand over her breast and down her stomach, hooking his finger under the gathered edge of her shift.

"I want you, Jitkwa:'e…" Sonehso:wa looks into her eyes as he speaks. In answer, Anika braces her hands behind her and raises her hips off the mat. Sonehso:wa brings his other hand up and slides her shift the rest of the way off, letting his fingers run down her legs. His eyes are drawn to the triangle of hair between her thighs and his breath catches in his chest when he sees that it is not much darker than her golden locks he so loves, only partially hiding the soft curves of her sex. Immediately, he wants to touch her, taste her and take her but he only sets her shift aside, mustering his self control. He gets to his feet and loosens the ties holding his pants. Anika watches him as he takes them off, his erection springing free and standing out from his body. She stares at it and then looks up at him, her eyes showing a hint of fear. He knows he is a sizeable man but he has never found that he cannot bring a woman pleasure with it, even if it is her first time. Seeing Anika's fear tempers his urgency and he is determined to make sure she is ready for him so he will not hurt her.

Anika questions her decision briefly when Sonehso:wa stands naked before her. Remembering Cat's tearful description of how Francisco had hurt her on her wedding night, she tenses when Sonehso:wa lowers himself to her right side and gently uses his right hand on her shoulder to lay her back. The rain drums loudly on the roof above them and the sound of it, combined with his renewed kisses begins to relax her muscles. His hand travels over her skin, brushing a nipple, cupping a breast and squeezing it softly, circling her navel, sliding through her pubic hair and teasing her before traveling back up toward her breasts again. When he breaks away from their kiss to take more of her hair and pull it forward between her breasts, Anika brings her left hand to his arm and strokes it. He smiles and shifts his body lower beside her, moving his right knee between her legs and gently pushing her left knee to the side. Her body tenses again and she grips his arm, only relaxing again when he does nothing more than rest his weight on the knee between her legs and kiss her breasts. Slowly, he kisses down her chest and stomach, trailing his hands after and settling them on her sides just below her breasts. Lower still he goes, his lips branding her body with warmth and curving along the edges of her pubic hair. His hands move to her hips and almost at the same moment, he brings his mouth to her.

Her body is awash with movement under his hands and she sighs and gasps at once. After his initial taste, he draws back to look at her. Her head is thrown back and her arms are by her sides, her hands palm down and pushing against the mat. The sight of her is enthralling, and he is torn between wanting to stare at her or give her more. His love of giving pleasure wins and he lowers his mouth to her once more, Anika's cry of delight making him smile against her. Her knees are bent up and she opens her legs wide. She is unaware when he moves his other knee between her legs, for he is using his tongue and holding her steady with his hands on her hips. He can't get enough of her taste or the sound of her gasps and moans. She grabs his head in both of her hands and arches up to his face, pressing herself against him. Her hips and hands fall to the mat when it is over. Lifting his face from her, Sonehso:wa wipes his lips and chin with the back of his hand, greedily watching her panting below him.

Sonehso:wa moves closer to her, resting his weight on his hands on either side of her body. He is now completely between her legs. Still slightly euphoric from the high of her orgasm, Anika receives his kisses and only begins to return them with passion when he reaches down and presses his fingers to her once more. The surge of tingling heat that courses through her body surprises her so soon after such powerful waves had taken her over. Sonehso:wa kisses her jaw and murmurs in her ear but Anika does not understand his words. He sits back on his heels and gently positions himself to enter her. Anika's legs tighten against his sides as if to keep him away but he leans over her, supporting his weight with his left hand and kissing her neck and shoulders. She feels the moment he starts to push inside. It is an odd sensation; not painful but not easy, either. He only advances slightly before stopping and moving his right hand to her pubis, caressing her until her thighs relax away from him and her head falls back, her body experiencing sensations in far too many places to keep track of.

Just when Anika is getting used to how he feels, he pushes deeper. Her body accommodates him, yet she cannot withhold the troubled noise that escapes her throat. He stops and looks at her carefully, pulling his right hand from between their bodies and resting it next to her head.

"Am I hurting you, Jitkwa:'e?" Anika shakes her head.

"No. It's… fullness, strange."

"Do you want me to stop?" Anika shakes her head again and Sonehso:wa kisses her hard.

She feels incredibly good but her inexperience and the ache in his side restrains him. He is sure she will not come through this without at least some pain but he wants so desperately to show her he can bring her pleasure with it. She takes a handful of his hair with her right hand and Sonehso:wa almost loses control when she gasps against his mouth, his pleasure mounting to a dangerous high before he can hold it back. Pausing to catch his breath and gain more control, he is surprised to open his eyes and see Anika looking back at him. Her mouth is open slightly as she takes shaking, irregular breaths. He strokes a finger down her cheek and runs his right thumb over her bottom lip. Dropping his hand to the section of hair he left between her breasts, he picks it up and brings it to his lips. Her fingers tighten in his hair and on his hand and Sonehso:wa cannot stop, not now. Keeping his pace as controlled as he can, he uses the pain in his ribs to delay his release. Anika wraps her legs around him and the change in angle throws him over the edge.

Sonehso:wa's pleasure is all over his face as he exhales in bursts with his eyes squeezed shut. There was some pain when he had first started but it had faded. Though the sensation of him inside her is still new and unusual, it has crossed over into a pleasant kind of strangeness. Anika gives herself up to it, relaxing her body and allowing herself to feel it all. Sonehso:wa opens his eyes and for a moment, they are staring at each other. His hair spills over his shoulders and shifts over her skin, tickling her slightly. Wanting to pull him as close to her as possible, she tightens her legs around his hips and comes to a second, different climax. Sonehso:wa's voice joins hers and he throws his head back, breathing rapidly and a sheen of sweat covers his shoulders. He groans into her neck and Anika tightens her fingers in his hair, scraping her nails along his scalp as he kisses her slowly until their hearts slow and their breathing returns to normal.

All too soon, the sweat cools on their bodies. Sonehso:wa leans forward and kisses her again before getting up and moving toward the door. Anika watches the play of his muscles under his skin as he pushes the mattress aside slightly and reaches his cupped hands to the stream of water falling into the entrance to the cabin. He cleans himself of their lovemaking in the light of the fading day. It's still pouring outside. A moment of shameful awareness washes over Anika. She has given herself to this man and he has taken her innocence. It can never be taken back. Sitting up, she raises onto her knees. Sonehso:wa looks over his shoulder at her and smiles. He walks to their things scattered about the room and finds one of the folded cloths that had once covered food eaten days ago. Returning to the door, he wets it and brings it to Anika, kneeling down and kissing her.

"Did I hurt you?" His concern erases her doubt and Anika shakes her head.

"No." He kisses her again and smiles. Anika cleans herself off. With much less confidence than Sonehso:wa had displayed, she walks naked to the doorway and washes the cloth in the cold rain water. The mattress slides easily into place over the door, once again sealing in the warmth of the fire. Back at the mat, she joins Sonehso:wa where he lies stretched out and still naked, watching her.

"Woman, you are beautiful," he says, stroking her hair when she settles her body along his. Anika looks at his face.

"Man, I'm cold." He laughs and drags the blanket over them.

For the rest of the night and most of the following day as the rain continues to pour from the sky, they spend their time lazily traveling over every inch of each other's bodies, making love several more times. The rain starts to taper off in the evening hours of the next day and they decide to leave their cozy, ramshackle hideaway and finish their journey.

Catherine lies on her stomach on the bed facing the windows and reading one of the dusty books from the chest in the storage room. It is a good day, the second consecutive one that she did not have to leap from the bed and run to the porch, gagging. How heavenly it is to not feel so sick anymore! She must be past that time at last. Finding stores of energy she had not known existed in her, she had cleaned the entire cabin the day before, standing on the bed and using the broom to clear out cobwebs and dust bunnies from the corners where the rafters meet the roof. She had then washed all the bedding and scrubbed the floors thoroughly, humming as she cleaned and having Connor move the furniture away from the walls for her. Rain had been drumming on the roof for an entire day already and it had put Connor in a rancorous mood, trapping him indoors for a second day in a row but Catherine listened to it with exhilaration and energetic happiness, knowing the world was being washed clean. Connor had paced about and restlessly tuned and cleaned his entire weapon collection until his fingers were blackened from gunpowder residue and filings from the edges of his blades. He had remained sullen, sitting on the floor between the sheets and blankets draped over the chairs and table to dry in front of the fireplace, looking like an oversized child in his fort.

When everything had dried and Catherine had remade the bed, she had coaxed Connor onto it and cradled his head in her lap. Once the tie was out of his hair and she had carefully undone his braid and set the small, decorative beads on the shelf in a row, she had run her fingers through his hair. Nothing gives her more satisfaction than watching Connor relax under her touch. He always looks older when he is stressed out or anxious but as she smoothes his hair back from his face and runs her nails lightly over his scalp, the lines on his forehead and around his mouth and eyes fade away, taking years off of him. She has memorized every angle of his face, each line, curve and freckle, down to the last hair of his eyebrows with the tips of her fingers. It seems there is nothing more relaxing to them both than these times when Connor lets her caress away his burdens and Catherine is often rewarded with him falling asleep under her touch, even if it is only for a minute.

The rain had finally stopped, and mist lay heavily around the cabin in the morning, clouding the view from the windows and eddying in the breeze created by the falls. Connor had been up since before dawn, probably the moment the rain had tapered off. At the first light of sunrise, he had kissed her where she lay lazily in bed and left the cabin to hunt. Catherine had gasped when she had found the book while cleaning the storage room, shocked to discover such a treasure in the cabin. The other books scattered on the shelves are all in English and were comprised of many classical pieces of literature that Catherine had read many times before but this one had been among the things Connor had stowed away when he had claimed the cabin. Finding a copy of "El Ingenioso Hidalgo Don Quijote de la Mancha" had been a most pleasant surprise. When she had begun corresponding with Francisco, her father had hired a tutor to educate her and Anika in the Spanish language. The vinegary man had always plied them with the most dry and uninteresting works and had scoffed at the fantastical nature of novels and plays. She and Anika had struggled through the dullest accounts of the history of Spain and religious tomes expounding on the grace of God. By the time Connor returns from hunting, Catherine has devoured almost all of her treasured story as greedily as a child who has found a cache of sweets, leaving the storage room half cleaned and forgotten, the door still standing open.

Connor smiles at Catherine when she looks up at him from her relaxed position on the bed, her cheek resting in her left hand and her right hand poised to turn a yellowed page of a book. With her knees bent and her bare feet crossed in the air, she is a picture of total contentment. He kicks off his boots, hangs up his belt and shrugs out of his wet jacket, walking over and letting himself fall backwards onto the bed next to her, his knees bent over the edge. Catherine closes the book with a dusty snap and leaves it on the edge of the bed, drawing her knees up and flipping herself to lie alongside Connor.

"Did you get anything?" she asks, resting her left hand on his chest and noting the dampness that had saturated through his jacket and onto his shoulders and the front of his chest.

"No." He stares up at the ceiling.

"We have enough smoked venison to last us a long time. No need to worry." She brings her fingers up to his face and turns him toward her, smiling.

"I am not worried."

"Good." Catherine kisses him lightly and rests her head on his shoulder.

"What are you reading?" Catherine sits up excitedly and takes the book in her hands, presenting the cover to him with an open mouthed smile.

"I cannot read that, WildCat. What does it say?" Catherine reads the title in a melodramatic voice, gesturing grandly with one hand and bowing from her waist when she finishes. Connor's face remains impassive and Catherine tilts her head to the side and sighs in frustration, making Connor smile.

"I still do not know what it is."

"Don Quijote? It's the famous story of the most insanely chivalrous man and his misguided adventures as he attempts to become a knight of true honor and bravery!" Connor stares at her stoically for several long seconds.

"Are you mocking me?" he asks in a flat, serious tone. Catherine bursts out in laughter at Connor's question.

"Is that what you think of yourself? A man who dreams of knightood and rescuing damsels in distress?" Connor smiles and sits up, taking Catherine around her waist and pulling her over his body as he lies back down. Catherine lets out a squeal but does not fight his embrace. Rather, she straddles him and tosses the book onto the bed near the pillows. The sight of her over him, laughing and smiling, drives him almost mad with desire. She is not wearing her hide tunic and with her hair behind her, her body is provocatively displayed by the thin fabric.

"I rescued you, did I not?" Connor asks, flatly, his hands caressing the sides of her waist. Catherine nods and lowers her head close to his face, her hair falling forward from her shoulders and her hands sliding up his chest.

"You did! The ever honorable… Captain Chivalry." She brushes her lips teasingly over his with a soft laugh and pulls back just enough that Connor has to lift his head from the bed to kiss her. His hands wander from her waist, sliding up her back to her shoulders and pulling her down to him. Catherine complies and rests her body fully on his chest. Since the night Catherine had accepted him as the father of her baby, they had shared the cabin's bed. Their kisses had become more passionate in the days that followed as Catherine's heart had really begun to open to him. Her acceptance of her pregnancy had released an unspeakable burden from her and Connor had begun to let his guard down when it came to intimacy. He always let her control the direction and intensity of their dalliances but she had not attempted anything as aggressive as what she had done the first time he had joined her in the bed. They kissed often, sometimes chastely, sometimes passionately and their hands had started exploring each other's bodies, ghosting over sensitive areas in the semblance of foreplay yet still hesitant of the other's reaction despite the rising sexual tension between them. Catherine had become more confident despite their hesitance to cross that invisible line, and it has started to show in the teasing way she reacts to him. In some respects, he is excited by her metamorphosis; it is proof that she is truly comfortable around him but it is also maddeningly, frustratingly erotic.

Connor is spurred to ambition by Catherine's playfulness so he runs his hands down her body as they kiss, lightly squeezing the rounded curve of her buttocks and continuing on to the backs of her thighs. He presses his fingers into her skin and she moans into his mouth, shifting against his stomach. Moving his hands to the front of her thighs, he begins ascending up their length. Catherine sits up, breaking their kiss and tossing her hair back behind her shoulders. Connor pauses in his movement but Catherine takes his hands in hers and slowly guides them up her stomach and towards her breasts, never releasing eye contact with him. Boldly taking her breasts in his hands, Connor revels in the feel of their firm softness and the way they fit perfectly into his palms. Catherine closes her eyes and breathes deeply before leaning down into his hands. He bends his elbows and lowers her further, enough for them to resume their kissing.

Catherine holds Connor's wrist in her left hand, loving the way his hands cover her breasts; he squeezes them just enough to bring her thrilling bursts of sensation but not enough to hurt, for they are still tender. She twines her fingers in Connor's hair as they kiss and together they fall into a rhythm that feels so right. He takes his left hand from her breast and moves it to the back of her hip, pressing her body down and raising his up to meet her. They both react to the increased sensations with a throaty moan and Catherine suddenly finds herself being rolled onto her back.

The feeling of being pinned beneath a man so huge jolts Catherine out of her sensual reverie. She grasps at his arms but wills herself not to push him away. He's not a threat! Her body fights her mind, her heart rate picking up to a frenetic pace as she tries to crush down her fear. Connor hovers over her, kissing her neck and massaging her breast, his body flanked by her legs. When he pulls back to look at her, his face is calm for only a moment until he sees her internal struggle showing on hers. Moving quickly, he sits up, takes his hands off of her and shimmies backward on his knees. His reaction makes her want to weep. Sitting up immediately after him, Catherine reaches for him.

"No, stay! I'm alright." Catherine is out of breath and she wants him desperately even as her stubborn fear lurks threateningly near the surface. Bringing her hands to his arms, she pulls on him. Connor looks hard into her eyes and only draws her close when she takes his face in her hands and kisses him. His doubt is evident in the wooden way he moves, his motions no longer fluid and instinctive. In an effort to bring him back to where they were, Catherine tucks his braid behind his ear, bends her fingers into his hair the way he likes and kisses him slowly. Under her touch, his neck and shoulders start to loosen and he becomes less passive, tipping her head back and kissing the left side of her neck in the place below her jaw that he always seems drawn to.

"Put your hands on me, Connor." Catherine whispers in his ear, sitting back on her heels and drawing him toward her. Connor sighs against the skin of her neck as he allows her to tow him down. He is surprised when she wraps her legs around the backs of his knees after how she had reacted earlier. Pulling back from kissing her neck, he looks at her where she lies beneath him. Her eyes are closed and her head is turned to the right on the bed. On either side of her head her arms lie relaxed, her fingers curled softly. All around and under her arms, her hair spreads in an untamed mass of dark rebellion. As he watches her his heart is tortured by uncertainty. Her eyes open and she slowly turns her head to face him, her oceanic gaze capturing him completely. There is a determined, yet pleading set to her face and combined with the gravitational draw of her eyes, his caution falters.

"Please…" Her whispered plea slashes through the last of his reserve and he reaches for her shirt and pulls at the hide string holding it together in the front. He watches her as he loosens each lace, keeping vigilant for any sign of worry or fear. Catherine exhales and closes her eyes again.

Half way down her shirt and somewhere between her breasts, the tugging on her laces stops and Connor slides his hands under her shirt from the bottom, skimming his fingers over her skin and once again covering her breasts with his warmth. A breathy cry comes from her and she peeks from under her lashes to watch what Connor is doing. He is staring at his hands on her under her shirt, his mouth open and his eyes luminous with his desire. Taking his right hand from her, he gathers the bottom of her shirt at the side and lifts it up, uncovering her to his sight. His eyes are hungry. With a quick glance at her just to be sure, he lowers his lips to her. The moment he does, Catherine lets her eyes close fully and her head fall back onto the bed. Jolts of tingling course through her and radiate outward as he uses his tongue and lips to perpetuate and increase her pleasure.

Catherine moans as Connor raises the other side of her shirt. He pushes it up until it is gathered just below her collarbones and then puts his hands on the mattress on either side of her to just look. There is a tiny, brown mole just under the bottom curve of her right breast and Connor wants to touch it. Catherine's eyes are dilated and shining as she watches him, her respiration rapid and shallow. Breathing through parted lips, she waits for him, her arms still relaxed on either side of her head. Connor rakes his eyes down from her slightly flushed face, lingering on her breasts and then moves over her stomach to her navel and lower. Is there a fullness under the waist of her pants that wasn't noticeable before? Her body does seem a little less angular, appearing softer in his perception. She is beautiful like this and it amplifies his need for her. Running his hands over her, his thumb stroking over her little mole, he follows the path his eyes had taken until his palms are over her hips. When he curves his hands under her pelvis she closes her eyes and inhales. It drives him to even further heights of arousal so he lowers his mouth to hers and kisses her deeply. She returns his kisses in kind, taking a handful of hair on the back of his head and pulling him closer. Her fingers close on his left shoulder.

Feeling the need to slow down before he loses all control, he raises up on his hands and knees, lifting his body from Catherine's. She whimpers at the loss of sensation but Connor does his best to distract her by bringing his mouth to her right breast and lavishing it with his attentions. Not wanting to leave her left breast neglected, he cups it in his hand. He loves how she feels as he strokes his tongue over her, her hardened nipple just firm enough to make him want to bite it. Covering his teeth with his lips, he does, eliciting such a loud cry of pleasure from her that he imagines stripping them both down to nothing that instant and taking her with abandon. If only he knew he could with certainty. Too many doubts still linger and he knows he has to progress slowly or risk harming her. He longs to hear her ardently cry out as she climaxes. Only the purest pleasure, untainted by fear or pain of any kind is acceptable for her first time actually making love. He wants to make it right, perfect and healing; to undo the countless hurts she has suffered at the hands of unkind men and make her forget it all in exchange for the blissful escape of total oblivion. The longer they linger in each other's embrace now, the more he feels he may be able to give her that gift this time.

The pull of her fingers in his hair brings him back to the moment and he licks her mole with the tip of his tongue before trailing over to the space between her breasts. Retaking her right breast in his hand, he kisses his way up toward her neck, jumping over the bunched up material of her shirt and breathing onto her skin before touching his lips to the base of her neck just above her collarbones. Catherine writhes beneath him, making mewling, breathy sounds in her throat as he starts sucking her sweet warmth to the surface.

A sound outside the cabin startles him. Was that a voice? His body freezes and he takes his hands from Catherine's breasts and reaches to her arms to free himself from her.

"Connor, no! Don't stop…" Catherine whispers. Connor pulls her shirt down, only barely covering her breasts before raising his palm toward her and making a settling gesture.

"Shhh. Cover yourself and stay quiet. Someone is outside." His words send a chill down Catherine's spine and she sits up and drags her shirt down when he moves off the bed and silently advances toward the door. Grabbing her folded hide shirt from her pillow, she hurriedly pulls it on over her head and watches as Connor moves to put his back to the door, gripping his tomahawk in his left hand. Turning his head to the right, he cracks it open with his right hand on the latch and looks outside. Abruptly, his shoulders relax and he lowers the tomahawk, turning his face toward Catherine where she is nervously watching him from the side of the bed. He is smiling.

"He's back! Sonehso:wa?" Catherine asks, her heart leaping with excitement at hearing news of Anika. She strains to look out the windows but they are small and do not show enough of the foggy landscape outside. Connor closes the door and calmly reaches over to put his tomahawk back onto his hanging belt.

"See for yourself," Connor says enigmatically, moving to the side so she can open the door. Running toward him, Catherine throws her arms around him and kisses him briefly, barely able to do so because of her smile. She releases him and flings the door open, dashing onto the porch barefoot. Sonehso:wa is leading the horse toward her with his right hand and when he sees Catherine, he turns his head and says something with a smile on his face. Anika steps from behind him and Catherine nearly falls to the deck of the porch in shock. Anika is holding Sonehso:wa's hand but lets it go when Catherine stumbles onto the flattened wet grass in front of the porch as if in a dream, her vision blurring from tears filling her eyes. Is this really happening? It must be, because their arms are around each other and Anika's musical voice is in her ears. They are both crying and trying to talk at once between kisses and hugs.

Connor smiles as he watches the two women embracing. Though he had not initially intended for Anika to end up here, he is relieved that she is safe and Catherine does not have to worry anymore. Having her here ensures there will be no future danger for her. Not wanting to disturb their happy reunion, Connor unobtrusively moves past them and joins Sonehso:wa where he is removing everything from the grey horse by the cliff wall. The chestnut moves closer and smells the grey with curiosity, nibbling his mane.

"You have the worst timing, my friend." Connor laughs, speaking in Kanien'keha.

"Oh, so happy to see you, too, Ratonhnhake:ton. I am glad you did not worry about me getting back safely." They laugh together.

"I was not worried. Should I have been?"

"There were a few… things that happened."

"Was it the adventure you have been looking for?" Connor asks and Sonehso:wa turns to look at Anika as she and Catherine make their way onto the porch with their arms around each other.

"More than you know, brother."


	15. Chapter 15

Disclosure

**Author's note: Portions of this chapter have been removed to comply with the site's policy on explicit content. See my profile for the location of the unedited version.**

"I still can hardly believe you're here in front of me, alive and well! Cat, my heart was broken and I thought you were gone forever." Anika and Cat stand on the porch facing each other and holding hands. The waterfall thunders down on the other side of the gorge but any view of it is obliterated by the opaque fog that shrouds the area.

"And I was afraid Sonehso:wa wouldn't be able to find you or he would be too late and you would have been harmed or killed." The women embrace and then stand back to regard each other, as if one or the other would simply disappear if either of them looks away.

"Sonehso:wa assured me that you were safe. I made him tell me what was done to you. I'm so sorry. I should have been with you that day."

"Nonsense! Then we both would have been taken. I'm glad you were spared what happened." Anika's mouth becomes a flat line and she squeezes Catherine's arms before sliding them down to her hands and gripping them tightly.

"Well. You're safe. It's over now and you are free of it forever."

"As much as I can be. Anika…" Catherine drops her head, knowing she has to tell Anika the truth. Will she come to accept it as she had? She takes a deep breath and squeezes Anika's hands in hers, raising her eyes up.

"One of them… I'm pregnant." Anika gasps and her gaze falls to Cat's stomach and then leaps back to her face.

"No! Cat, no!" Catherine stands helplessly as Anika takes one hand from her and covers her mouth, shaking her head. She has to fight her own feelings as she watches her friend react with horror, knowing it is only natural under such circumstances.

"It's alright. I was upset when I realized it too but it's alright now." Anika takes her hand again as tears fall from her eyes.

"How can you say that? It's not alright! Oh, Cat, you will be reviled! This is awful!"

"I felt the same at first, but Connor… he loves me and he will be the father."

"That's impossible. It's not his. It's not even Francisco's!"

"He doesn't care that it's not his by blood, only that he can be the father. I have agreed to it. It's going to be alright, you see?" Anika frowns and Catherine reaches up to wipe the tears from her face. They are silent except for Anika's sniffing as she controls her emotional response to Catherine's news and decision.

"How far gone are you? You don't look pregnant."

"I can't be sure, but I think it's probably about two months now. I had some nasty morning sickness but it went away a couple of days ago. I feel so much better and now you're here. I couldn't be happier." Cat smiles at Anika and the blonde woman smiles back weakly.

"Come inside. It's warmer there and I'll heat some water. You must be dying for a bath." Anika nods and follows Catherine inside. She looks around the small cabin and watches as Cat adds wood to the fire and pushes the pot closer. She does seem happy but she looks thinner than the last time she saw her. Dressed in such strange clothes with her hair down, she seems a tad untamed and, well, like a savage woman. Frowning at her own hypocrisy, she knows she herself must be a fright to behold in her travel stained clothing and probably smelling like the horse.

"So this where he has been hiding you. It's small but it looks comfortable. Did Ratonhnhake:ton build it?" Catherine spins around at Anika's usage of Connor's native name.

"You say his name better than I do. I always call him Connor, and no, he didn't build it. He found it. The old man who built it had died and he buried him in the woods. Connor uses it as a hunting cabin when he's not at his village or traveling." Catherine sits down on the bear hide in front of the fire and pats the space beside her. Anika takes off her boots with a sigh of relaxation, joins her on the hide and they hug again. While they hug, Anika heaves a sigh.

"I have some bad news." They lean back and sit facing each other.

"I would rather tell you now than later. It's about Sergio and maybe your husband." Catherine presses her lips together and looks at Anika.

"Go on." Anika takes Catherine's hands once more and looks down at them.

"Frau Zenger… remember her shop? We used to go together to make sure she had enough of your father's production."

"Of course. She's so very kind. Is she well?" Anika nods.

"As far as I know… Her husband knows Ratonhnhake:ton."

"He must be one of his contacts he wrote to. How coincidental."

"Yes, well, she asked me to come to her shop after my work was done one day. I found out later it was because of you and Ratonhnhake:ton. When I went, I was followed. It turns out I had been being watched by Sergio's men since I had been dismissed." Anika sees the expression on Catherine's face darken as she speaks.

"But why?"

"Sergio has always been a suspicious man, Cat, you know that. No loose ends for him. I believe he wanted us both to be taken that day. He didn't know I would want to visit my family's graves. That was a spontaneous decision. He was probably surprised to see me return alone." Catherine nods in agreement.

"He's an evil man. And Francisco isn't innocent either, I know it." Her voice is ragged with emotion as she thinks of her abuse, planned by Sergio and maybe even paid for with some of her own inheritance money.

"Cat, it doesn't end there." Catherine exhales, sick, as she ponders what Anika will tell her.

"Sonehso:wa overheard them say they would attack me when I left Frau Zenger's shop and find out what I was doing there. So we left that night but the men following me saw us. Herr Zenger fought one man in the alley, and Sonehso:wa killed a man who grabbed me as I tried to get on the horse. A third man chased us out of the city but Sonehso:wa shot him with an arrow so we could escape. I had nothing except this dress and my shawl and the boots on my feet." Catherine continues to squeeze her hands and they both turn their heads when the door opens and Connor and Sonehso:wa enter. Connor has the bag from Bethany and the bridle in his hands and Sonehso:wa carries his bedroll and the other bag. Anika jumps to her feet and pulls Catherine up with her, unwilling to let go of her.

Anika looks at Connor as he walks inside with Sonehso:wa. She had thought Sonehso:wa to be a large man. Connor is even bigger; he is built like a giant with a massive chest and broad shoulders. Despite his powerful appearance, his face is kind. The two men had been laughing as they entered the cabin but Connor's face grows serious in the presence of the two women and he lowers the bag he was holding to the floor. His eyes smile at Catherine for a moment before he turns his uniquely golden gaze to Anika, standing straight and couching his curled hand holding the bridle in the palm of the other in front of his waist.

"Anika. Welcome to our cabin. I see WildCat has started to get you settled." Anika lowers her head and gives a half curtsy.

"Ratonhnhake:ton, I'm so honored to finally meet you. Please, accept my thanks for what you have done for me and more importantly, for Cat. You saved her life and I can never thank you enough." The women exchange a smile and they put their arms around each other's waists.

"The honor is mine, Anika. It brings me much joy to see you both safe and happy." His eyes smile more than his face and his gaze shifts between the two women. Sonehso:wa puts his items down on the floor near the growing collection of boots and stands beside Connor, facing the women. Catherine looks at him, her heart brimming with gratitude.

"Thank you, Sonehso:wa. Your selfless efforts were a… a kindness beyond words."

"It was a rewarding experience." His characteristic humorous grin covers his face and Anika unsuccessfully stifles a laugh at his words. Connor raises an eyebrow at Sonehso:wa, and moves toward the back of the cabin with the bridle. Sonehso:wa takes off his wrap, boots and weapons and follows him to the supply room, unbuckling Connor's belt while the women settle back down in front of the fire.

"We need to talk, brother." Sonehso:wa speaks in Kanien'keha when he steps inside the hidden room and holds the belt out toward Connor, the symbol flat on his palm and the belt hanging from either side. When Connor reaches to take it, he closes his fingers and pulls his hand back.

"This symbol and the people you sent me to..." Connor looks at the belt buckle enclosed in Sonehso:wa's hand and back at his friend's face, his expression impassive.

"What do you want to know?"

"Everything."

"That will take some time."

"I have as much time as you need. Does Catherine know?"

"Some of it."

"When were you planning on telling her the rest?"

"When it becomes necessary."

"It is necessary now." Connor squares his shoulders and tips his chin upwards.

"I will decide that." Sonehso:wa glances over his shoulder at the women talking by the fire before pushing Connor farther back into the supply room with a hand on his chest and pulling the door partly closed behind him. His voice drops to a low growl. He gestures angrily with the belt.

"When I am asked if I am an assassin and the people who ordered Cat's capture and who sent men after Anika and I as far as Albany are called 'Templar sympathizers' by your contact in New York, I think it is time! I do not know what 'Templar' means, but Jacob said he did not have the authority to explain. You do. More importantly, your woman deserves to know what you are involved with, especially when it touches her life directly." Connor's defensive posture relaxes slightly.

"This is news to me, brother. Though I could have guessed that there may have been some connection. It seems that you are right. Maybe it would be best to speak of it now when we are together."

"I agree." Sonehso:wa lowers the belt to Connor's hand. He starts to turn away but Connor stops him with a word, the belt dangling from his grip.

"Brother." Sonehso:wa halts and turns back, waiting.

"What is Anika to you? I saw the way you looked at each other."

"She is…" he trails off, not sure of how to express his thoughts.

"Take care with her. The ways of white women are different than ours. They view certain aspects of relationships as much more binding than we do." Sonehso:wa is surprised by Ratonhnhake:ton's adamant words of caution. He thinks about what Anika means to him and what they have done together.

"Your words come too late." Connor's eyes open wide and his eyebrows rise up on his forehead.

"Do not harm that girl needlessly with your ways."

"I do not intend to. A man can change his ways." Sonehso:wa is surprised by his admission. Never before had he had so much difficulty speaking his mind.

Sonehso:wa leaves the supply room and speaks to the women by the fire, sitting next to Anika. Connor hangs the bridle beside the other on a nail partly driven into the shelving in the back of the supply room where he had stored the saddles. Staring at his belt in his hand, he sighs at the weight of what he has to reveal and takes a large, burlap wrapped bundle down from the top shelf and lays the belt on top of it. Instead of returning the bundle to the shelf, he carries it out to the cabin, places it on the bed and starts to open it. He knew this day would come with Catherine and Sonehso:wa, he just did not expect it to be so soon.

While the men are in the back of the cabin, the women resume their earlier conversation.

"You said you and Sonehso:wa had to escape from the men Sergio had following you," Catherine prompts.

"Yes. We thought we were free when we reached Albany. For a night, we stayed with a couple named Isaac and Bethany Young. I met their young grandson, Ethan the next day. When we travelled to Mr. Young's store to get provisions, Sonehso:wa stayed outside so we would not be seen together. Five of Sergio's men were there, Cat. In Albany. They flaunted who they were with their official Martinez livery. They beat up Sonehso:wa outside and came into the store and grabbed me. Two of the men pointed guns at Mr. Young so I copied your accent and called myself Hanna and Mr. Young insisted I was his daughter. They wanted to cause trouble even when they spoke among themselves in Spanish that I was not who they wanted."

"How did you get away?"

"Ethan ran over to defend me, the little innocent thing, and one of the men tried to grab him. I smashed a jar of preserves on his head. The man who held me hit me for it and they left, thinking Ethan was my son."

"Good Lord, Anika! And Sonehso:wa…" Catherine twists around toward the supply room but Sonehso:wa is almost to them.

"I am fine, Cat, just some bruises." His use of her personal nickname is strange. It seems Anika and Sonehso:wa had used the names they are most comfortable with when speaking of her and Connor. Sonehso:wa sits beside Anika on her right, his left arm crossing behind her and his hand resting on the floor. Upon closer inspection of his face, Catherine can make out a slight mark from an almost healed cut on his upper lip. His dark skin hides it well. She probes her own scar with her tongue, the tiny hardened lump under her lip invisible according to Connor but still palpable. Anika sighs and turns her face from Sonehso:wa to Cat.

"And some broken ribs. They attacked him just because of being Indian. They didn't even see us together." Sonehso:wa puts his hand on Anika's lower back and makes a soothing noise at her.

"I would rather that than for them to have discovered the truth. I have been in fights before and lost." He looks up at Catherine and catches her eye with a lopsided grin, trying to keep the conversation lighthearted.

"You have healed more since I saw you last. I did not expect to see you running," he says with a smile. Catherine untucks her left foot from under her leg and touches the thin scar running the length of her sole with her left thumb. It is still pink in color but is fully healed.

"It's tight in the mornings sometimes but once I walk on it, it feels better." Anika rests her hand on Sonehso:wa's knee and sighs.

"What a nightmare. Will it ever end? Will we ever be able to return to New York without having Sergio's vendetta hanging over our heads?" Her question is rhetorical but Connor's raised voice carries from the back of the cabin.

"Sergio will be dealt with, as will his son, for what happened to both of you. Believe me when I say you will have nothing to fear from them or their hired men. I will make certain of it." The three of them turn to face Connor. He is standing at the foot of the bed. An odd expression is on his face; a combination of pride, concern and resolution. He is attaching something to his left forearm. It looks to be a leather bracer with a silver symbol on top of it. Anika takes a deep breath and glances at Catherine for a fraction of a moment before turning her attention back to Connor.

"Pardon me, sir, but how can you make assurances such as those?" Connor lowers his arms, takes his belt from the bed and walks toward them. He meets each of their eyes in turn, ending with Catherine's. He keeps his eyes locked onto hers as he sits beside her and slightly closer to the hearth so he can see them all clearly. Turning his attention to Anika, he addresses her question.

"You have every right to doubt the possibility of being free of them. They appear to have greater might and to act without moral restraint. What can a few men do to fight against such power? I have asked myself that question many times throughout my life, since I was a child." His shoulders are curled slightly forward and he holds his belt in both of his hands, his elbows resting on his knees and his fingers shifting on the metal buckle. With his eyes remaining fixed on Anika, his face is nearly expressionless. He lifts his chin slightly, takes a breath and speaks with a heavy exhale, as if the weight of opening up is still too great to pass from him easily.

"What I have come to learn is this: even one man can make a great deal of difference. Where there are many soldiers, there is a single commander. If you can cut off the head, the entire beast will fall no matter how big it is." Connor looks at Sonehso:wa and nods, raising the belt buckle in his hand before placing it on the floor facing him and sliding it forward with his fingers. Sitting straighter, he regards them all seriously with his hands clasped in front of him. He keeps his voice low and smooth but there is a set to his jaw that lends an air of confidence won through many trials.

"I am the leader of a group of men and women who fight for freedom. We are a brotherhood that has been in existence for generations and we are called Assassins." He touches the belt buckle in front of him with his right hand and then moves his fingers to the similar one on his bracer.

"This is our symbol…" Clasping his hands again, he continues.

"Our goals have nothing to do with treaties or revolutions or written declarations of independence from any nation, though at times those things and our motivations align. The enemies we fight are called Templars, men who seek to oppress and rule. They believe that only through absolute control people will gain freedom and justice. They use their power and strength to enforce their tyrannical beliefs, crush all liberty and provide peace through domination." He opens his left palm and presses the index finger of his right hand into it.

"As Assassins, we root out and kill their influential players and the ones who seek to aid or strengthen them. Sergio is one of these men. According to what Sonehso:wa learned in New York, he supports the Templars. For that and for what he has done to you both…" he looks from Anika to Catherine, the anger in his eyes darkening his amber irises to a smoky copper.

"...he and his men will be dealt with." The pitch of his voice becomes lower as he continues.

"Unfortunately, the Templars also seek to wipe out all of us. We represent disorder and chaos to them. They view our goals, though similar for wanting freedom and justice, as stemming from idealistic, childish perceptions. That peace gained from independent thought and personal responsibility is impossible. They are wrong. For they have no faith in what humanity as a whole is capable of or that the few fighting for the free will of the many is not just a dream." His eyes move from Sonehso:wa to Anika and then to Catherine. They are all silent and Connor traces his thumb and first finger of his right hand over the shining metal symbol on his bracer but moving his hand away and gesturing with it as he warms up to his argument.

"The war between Assassins and Templars has been in existence for hundreds of years and will go on long into our lifetimes and maybe beyond. Today, we continue to fight for freedom; what value does life have if it is without progressive thought and independence?" Catherine stares at him, knowing the high cost of what he fights for and hearing the steady resolve in every word he speaks. His admitting to killing people of influence is somewhat disturbing but she knows of his capacity to kill already. It is consistent with what she has come to accept about him and she really isn't surprised at its larger scale. She looks over at Anika's stricken face and can only imagine what she must be thinking. Connor's level voice pulls her from her thoughts.

"And so we continue on. The few against the many; the seemingly weak against the powerful. But we are not without our own strengths." He holds his left arm out palm up and bends his wrist back. A blade extends from his bracer with a metallic scrape. The sound is loud in the quiet cabin. Moving his hand in an almost graceful manner, he causes the blade to rotate on a pivot in his palm, grasps it in his fist and brings his arm down, plunging the tip of the blade deep into the wood floor in front of his crossed legs. Anika gasps and jumps, leaning back from him and Sonehso:wa covers her hand with his on his knee. Connor looks up calmly from where he stabbed the floor and yanks the blade free, spinning it back until it points straight out from the bracer and retracting it with another subtle motion of his wrist. Anika has tightened her grip on Sonehso:wa's knee and he squeezes it reassuringly.

"Why is your battle not reported upon in the papers?" she asks, her voice shaking.

"It is not the kind of fight that is done in the open. We wait in the shadows and make our moves quietly. Though we act with purpose and for public motivation, we do not wish to start riots. Our assassinations are strategic moves designed to cripple their power without drawing attention to ourselves. It prevents innocent people from getting hurt."

"That still sounds like a lawless cutthroat."

"We are not criminals. If I had not acted during the war, Commander Washington would have been murdered and the Templars would have gained the advantage." Anika is quiet as she considers the merit of his actions and then looks into Connor's eyes, afraid of him yet finding herself boldly defiant.

"What stops you from killing anyone who disagrees with you?"

"We have morals, a creed. Unlike the Templars, who will destroy anyone and anything in their way no matter the cost in human life…Unlike my father." His voice is steely and dark with anger at the mention of his father. He looks at Catherine and her face is tense yet her eyes are sympathetic, giving him the encouragement to expand on his words.

"My father was the leader of the Templars. A man who carried the title of Grandmaster. In the ignorance of my younger years, I believed there was a chance to create unity between our two orders during the war. Over and over, he proved to me that that was impossible. I watched him kill men for no other reason than sparing their lives would have been… inconvenient. He openly and knowingly violated the first rule of the Assassin's Creed." A sneer of utter disgust crosses Connor's face.

"What is this creed?" Sonehso:wa asks and Connor's expression fades back to a calm smoothness.

"There are three tenets that govern our actions." He holds up his left hand with his index finger raised.

"'Stay your blade from the flesh of innocents.' That is the first and most important. We do not kill without cause. 'Hide in plain sight.' We learn to move among shadows and within crowds, blending into the background and becoming unnoticeable. 'Never compromise the brotherhood.' Our actions should never directly or indirectly call into question the integrity of our brotherhood or bring harm to it." He raises a finger for each one as he speaks and then drops his hand, closing his raised fingers into a loose fist.

"How could you watch your father, the leader of your enemies, commit such violence and do nothing to prevent it?" Sonehso:wa's voice is edged with contained anger. Connor faces him and speaks quietly, his hands palm down on his knees in a semblance of calmness but Catherine sees his fingers twitch, exposing his extreme effort of will.

"I did not do nothing. I took his life, though it fills me with sorrow that it had to be." Sonehso:wa looks at Catherine and she meets his dark eyes steadily.

"You knew that?" She nods her head and he levels his stare at Connor once more.

"So this Assassin Brotherhood is why you were never in the village for more than a few hours at a time during the war? Why you dressed as a white man and had such great knowledge of weapons and fighting?" Connor nods.

"My purpose was divided. I fought not only for what the Assassins believe in but also to protect our village and our people. I failed to prevent our land from being taken but I still work to keep our people safe, just as I continue to work at freeing the people of this land from Templar injustice. It is why I leave the village and travel to the large cities on the coast. Sometimes I am at sea, taking our fight where it is needed. This cabin is where I come to find balance, where I make the transition between Ratonhnhake:ton and Connor." When he is silent, Catherine speaks for the first time.

"Who really is Connor, then? Is he only the Assassin persona or the actual man who sits before us now?" Connor faces her and takes in every detail of her posture, expression and tone of voice. For the first time, fear builds in him at the possibility that he has made her believe he is not who she has come to know in their time together. He directs his answer only to her at first, infusing his words with as much candor as he can muster. The hard edge leaves his words, replaced by sincerity.

"Connor is just a name, a convenience. The man I am is who you see, who you know. I will always be Ratonhnhake:ton in my heart and in my blood yet I am also an Assassin and those who know me as such call me Connor. I may not have been born to it but it has become a part of me that cannot be taken away without destroying me. Just as I am both Kanien'keha:ka and English, two inseparable halves that must find balance in order to survive, I will not sacrifice one for the other." The second half of his answer is more for Sonehso:wa but he never looks away from Catherine.

"I assume the Clan Mother knows this?" Connor nods at Sonehso:wa, tearing his eyes from Catherine's face.

"She released me from the tribe when I was fourteen and encouraged me to find the answers I sought, knowing it would change me. She knows what I have seen. There are powerful forces at work that guide us on paths that change our lives, yet we will never understand them. That is why she let me go." He refrains from telling of the strange experiences he has had with the mysterious and powerful orbs that bring visions and spirits to life. Some things are better left unmentioned forever, especially when he has seen loved ones long dead live and perish once again before his eyes in a waking nightmare generated by one of those things. His arms involuntarily press against his sides where his tattoos lie, marking his skin in a personal rendition of traditional Haudenosaunee warrior paint, yet inspired by the shared dream he had experienced by touching the golden orb. He had chosen to permanently remind himself of it so he will never become too confident in his strength or successes.

Sonehso:wa nods, accepting Ratonhnhake:ton's explanation more for his assurance that his actions had been given the blessing of the Clan Mother than its political implications, which mean little to him. If she approved his leaving for this, then it must be for a greater cause than he understands. Outsiders are more readily adopted into the tribe than those born to it allowed to leave and seek out associations other than neighboring tribes or making treaties for the benefit of the Haudenosaunee. Maybe the Clan Mother had been given greater understanding from the Spirits and that is why she had encouraged Ratonhnhake:ton to follow this path.

"Isaac Young and Jacob Zenger?" Anika speaks up.

"Both men are in the Brotherhood, among many others spread throughout the colonies who I recruited and trained during the war."

Anika grips Sonehso:wa's knee harder and he strokes her hand in an effort to calm her. Glancing at her, she sits with her head bowed, staring at her knees with her left hand in her lap. Her hair has fallen forward from her shoulders and he is unable to see her face but she seems to tremble slightly. He leans closer to Anika and whispers to her, wiggling her hand under his.

"Jitkwa:'e." She turns to face him slightly and she looks like she is about to be sick. Her face is pale and her lips are a thin line in her face. Releasing her hand, he takes her hair from where it covers her face and moves it back behind her shoulder so he can see her better.

"What troubles you?" He whispers. Anika's brows move together and her lips part as she shakes her head at him.

"How can you ask me that? My best friend is living with a trained killer!" She hisses at him.

"She is safer with him than with anyone else, including her husband." Anika nods and swallows her urge to ask them if they have all lost their senses. Catherine is in love with a man who murders for a living and she wants him to raise her child. Sonehso:wa seemed to accept it easily once he found out the Clan Mother, whoever she is, sent Ratonhnhake:ton off to pursue this heinous life, and the man himself sits right in front of her, a deceptively calm expression on his face and his kind eyes hiding a ruthless killer inside. He has promised to track down Sergio, to kill him and all his goons. Though her heart does not break for Sergio, she quails in fear at how calmly he speaks of it. It is too much to bear. How did things get so out of control and bring her and Cat to such an unthinkable place in life?

The silence between them all becomes drawn out and awkward, each person present lost in thought over what has been revealed. Anika watches as Ratonhnhake:ton and Catherine exchange a long look. It crackles with emotion but Anika only clearly understands what is displayed on her friend's face. What she sees is love, trust, empathy and confidence. Ratonhnhake:ton's face is a slab of granite yet he looks almost… relieved. In the space between their knees and the floor, the shadow of their fingers entwining makes Anika want to scream and hurl her body between them. Has he cast a spell on her?

Sonehso:wa squeezes her hand and she forces herself to calm down. She is overreacting to this; she must be. It has to be because of how much she has learned all at once combined with her own recent experiences. She suddenly feels worn down and exhausted. Leaning against Sonehso:wa, she rests her head on his arm and closes her eyes. Connor's smooth voice makes her open them a short time later.

"You both must be tired and hungry after your travels. I believe this water is warming for bathing…" He gestures to the pot in the fireplace, just starting to send up tiny bubbles from where they have collected on the sides under the surface of the water. Catherine nods at him and faces Anika, taking her arm in her hands.

"We can go in the back and I'll help you get cleaned up." She looks up at Connor and directs her next words to him.

"Will you bring the water back for us?" His answer is to turn and pull the steaming pot away from the fire with the poker and get up. When Connor stands, the others rouse themselves from their places as well. Out of the corner of her eye, Catherine catches Sonehso:wa whispering to Anika and then raising her chin with his hand to kiss her softly on her lips. So it really is like that with them, is it? Not just a friendly shoulder to lean on after a long trip. That rascal! Seducing her best friend! Catherine smiles and shakes her head, happy for Anika. Free of societal restrictions, Anika is now more at liberty to be with a man of her choosing than she ever would have been as woman in service with no family to vouch for her. Though she knows little of Sonehso:wa, what she does know is more than enough to make her content with Anika's choice. Hadn't she herself found him handsome, friendly and honest? He had shown her great respect and care and it had left its mark on her. The sight of them together is entrancing. They are both so attractive; seeing them expressing affection to each other is almost too much beauty in one place, a blindingly bright spot that leaves an afterimage seared on her retinas. It is a relief when Sonehso:wa releases Anika a moment later and she steps away from him.

Catherine unlatches a hidden door in the back of the cabin and holds it open for Ratonhnhake:ton. Anika is beyond being shocked by anything more this day and simply gathers the bag of Sarah's clothes Sonehso:wa had brought in and waits until Ratonhnhake:ton leaves with a few items in one hand and a smaller pot of the hot water in the other. He nods at Anika and his lips seem to smile but she only clutches the bag tightly to her chest and lowers her head to slip past him, shutting the door behind her.

Connor approaches Sonehso:wa where he crouches near the fire and lowers the pot to the hearth in front of him.

"I fear I may have made a bad impression on Anika."

"She is concerned. I would not be speaking truth if I said I am taking your words easily. But if the Clan Mother sent you, there is good reason for it. I cannot deny that vengeance for the violence done to Anika and Cat would be welcome. Maybe Cat will be able to help Anika understand your motives better." Sonehso:wa drops the cloth into the pot and starts to undress.

"I hope so. Mine will not be the only secret she learns of this night." Connor leans his back against the stacked stone chimney of the fireplace and crosses his arms, staring toward the door in the back of the cabin. He wonders what the women are talking about in there.

"Why speak in vague terms, brother?" Sonehso:wa reaches into the pot and pulls the cloth out quickly, hissing at the hotness of the water on his skin.

"Catherine has a child growing in her." Sonehso:wa's eyebrows raise and he studiously starts washing his arms, not looking at Ratonhnhake:ton or betraying his surprise. Instead, he gives in to his favorite habit of digging into his stoic friend's weak spots, hoping for a reaction.  
"You did not waste any time." Connor glares down at him, uncrossing his arms and balling his hands into fists.

"What do you think of me? It is not of my spirit!" Sonehso:wa smiles for a moment at getting a rise out of him but makes a placating gesture with his hand, knowing his remark hit Ratonhnhake:ton's sense of honor harder than he had intended.

"I know that. You probably have not even kissed her yet. It is a shame she had to suffer to receive a child in her. What are your thoughts on it, brother?" Connor stares unseeing at the floor.

"I will raise it as my own. I hope to be a better father to it than mine was to me. Perhaps Catherine can gain some joy from motherhood. She was not so accepting of it in the beginning. Maybe someday I will give her children of my spirit as well, so the pain of her remembrance will fade." He frowns at Sonehso:wa.

"And I have kissed her. We might have done more if you had not shown up and ruined my chances." Sonehso:wa throws his head back and laughs robustly, holding the right side of his chest as he does, before turning back to his washing water. A grimace distorts Connor's mouth, half of amusement and half of regretful lamentation for his earlier, interrupted foreplay with Catherine. Now that the occupancy of his cabin has doubled, he doubts he will have another chance to touch her intimately for some time.

The hidden room is stocked well with all the supplies necessary for living in this untamed, wild place, allowing the main cabin to retain its sparse appearance. Cat has hung the lantern on a nail protruding from the edge of the top shelf near the back and the light it throws off illuminates the rock walls and ceiling, revealing it to not be a room, but a cave. It opens out into a curved dead end, the wood floor boards ending with a single step down onto a small, half moon section of hard packed earth. On the edge of the flooring sits a large cedar chest and the pot of steaming water Ratonhnhake:ton had delivered. Two saddles are tucked into the narrow space in the back just beyond the end of the shelving on the left side. It is quiet with the door shut, but when Anika places her hand against one of the walls a subtle vibration from the falls transmits through the cool stone to her palm.

"It's pretty incredible, isn't it? If you didn't know it was here, you would never realize that this cave exists." Catherine's voice is soft as she sits on the chest and looks up over her head at the rugged surface of the rock ceiling. Anika joins her on the chest and takes her hand, squeezing it tightly. Catherine brings her head down onto her shoulder.

"I'm so glad you're here. I missed you so much." Anika makes a soft noise in her throat and Catherine lifts her had and looks at her.

"What's wrong?" Anika looks down at the bag in her lap and her fingers play across the surface of the canvas nervously.  
"He isn't as dangerous as he sounds, is he?" Catherine's face crumples as she hears Anika's constricted voice.

"Oh, Anika. It can't be easy to hear what he had to say. I didn't know all of it until now, either, but I knew enough. Enough that when he revealed it to be so far reaching it wasn't as much of a shock for me. He's a good man. A kind man. He does what he does because he has to."

"Does he have to?" Catherine nods gravely.

"He believes so."

"He killed his father…"

"Only because his father would have killed him if he had not acted first. When he told me, I saw the pain in his eyes. It torments him every day. I know it wasn't easy for him to tell us what he did. You must believe me."

"It's just so macabre. He kills to prevent killing. He plans attacks to promote peace. It doesn't make any sense!" Catherine squeezes Anika's hand and the women are silent as Catherine tries to formulate words that will be enough to pacify her best friend's worries.

"Sonehso:wa has killed for you… to protect you."

"That's not the same. He was provoked and it was obvious those men intended harm."

"Is it any worse, then, to kill one evil person in an effort to protect many? For something you believe in and will fight for or die trying?" Anika swallows her barely contained tears and tries to see it from that perspective… from Ratonhnhake:ton's perspective. From her brother's perspective.

Hans had been fighting for what he had believed in, too. Anika covers her mouth and remembers the last time she saw him during the winter between '75 and '76, dressed in his best clothes and sporting the blue coat that had been issued to him by the Patriot army. He had been so proud of that coat. She had watched him polishing the brass buttons by the fire the night before he returned to his duties. He had just turned eighteen a few months earlier. The smallpox epidemic that had swept through the Patriot army shortly after his visit and then was passed on to her family and those of other soldier's had decimated the slums of New York. Many of the fiercest, most determined soldiers had hailed from the poorest districts. They had embraced the ideas of freedom and independence, the tantalizing prospect of rising up from nothing giving them their greatest motivation. Hans had promised her, his little Ani, that when the war was over their family would have their own farm with cows and horses and would be able to live off the land, no longer paying royalties to a faceless monarchy across the sea or scratching out a pitiful existence in the tiny hovel they called home. As Catherine's companion, Anika had felt lucky and proud that she could help support her family's income, just as her big brother had. Her good fortune had become a bitter draught to swallow when she became the sole surviving member of her family in the entire land in a matter of days. Her family had left Germany, penniless farmers with a dream and had died in this country, no better off than when they had started.

The old, familiar bile rises in her throat as she thinks on what Hans had sacrificed, what they all had sacrificed in the name of freedom and the hope for a better life. She had been proud to see her brother marching off to join the ranks. Ten years later, the loss of the big brother she had always idolized still cuts as sharply as a knife. Anika leans into Catherine and lets her tears fall for Hans and her family. All of them, gone in the name of freedom, killed not by firearms or blades but by an intentional act of vile ill-will perpetrated by their enemies that neither paid heed to honor, age, sex or race nor differentiated between the guilty or the innocent.

"Hans." It is all she needs to say for Catherine to know that Anika understands now why Connor does what he feels he must. Catherine holds her, caressing her back as Anika crushes a handful of her hide shirt in her fist.

"Will he ever get the peace he seeks? Is it even possible?" Anika whispers.

"I don't know. Maybe, if there is always someone fighting for it." Catherine pauses and then adds a further thought.

"Connor tried to stop the plague. He was there, burning the blankets that had been infected and taking the sick to get help." Anika raises her head, speechless. She is nauseous at the vitriol she had felt toward him.

"Oh, God, Cat. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry I judged him so harshly!" Catherine shakes her head and smoothes back her friend's hair with a smile.

"You didn't know. It's alright." The women hug each other with renewed enthusiasm.

"Let's get you cleaned up. I know you'll feel better afterwards and then you can rest. I'm sure Connor won't mind letting you have the bed with me." Anika smiles and looks away, some stubborn feelings of nervousness for who Ratonhnhake:ton is and what he does clinging to her heart when she thinks of him in bed with Cat. As she stands and starts to unbutton her dress, she wonders if they have made love as she and Sonehso:wa had. She is startled out of her thoughts when Cat gasps.

"Your shoulder! What happened?" As Catherine helps her out of her corset, Anika tells her of the attack just outside Albany. Catherine is horrified by her tale and incredibly grateful that Sonehso:wa had been there to defend her and knew what to do to fix her. Anika reaches for the bag she had carried in and digs around in it until she withdraws the small square of creamy soap bearing flecks of flower petals in its depths.

"Soap!" Catherine grasps her hand and brings the bar to her nose. She inhales with a heavenly look on her face. Anika laughs at the comically reverent appearance of her companion.

"Maybe you should take a bath as well." Catherine sighs and relinquishes the little piece of home to Anika.

"Tempting, but I just took a bath recently. I make do with hot water, rosemary and lots of scrubbing. Maybe next time." Anika lays her shift down on the floorboards and kneels on it to start washing. Catherine unlaces her sleeves and rolls them up, kneels beside her and takes the cloth and soap from her hands. She dips the cloth into the water and saturates it, letting it cool for a moment in the air while moving Anika's hair over her shoulder before bringing it to her back. As soon as the warmth touches her skin, Anika lowers her head with a sigh, her shoulders slouching forward. Catherine wets her skin and then runs the bar of soap over her tired muscles, massaging away the long days of travel along with her sweat and grime. Anika takes the soap, lifts the cloth from the edge of the pot and washes the front of her body, pausing and dropping her head from time to time when Catherine finds another tight muscle to work on. By the time Catherine has finished washing Anika's hair, the woman is nearly falling asleep with her arms wrapped around her bent knees and her head resting on top of them. The air in the cave is steamy and the scent of the dried herbs hanging from the shelves mixed with the potpourri of the floral soap is heady and relaxing.

"I've missed this, Cat." Catherine wrings out the last drops of the now tepid water from her hair and gently rakes her fingers through the long, damp locks, untangling the snarls and smoothing it into a dark honey colored swath over her back. Gathering up the length of it and dividing it into three sections, she braids it into a long rope.

"Me too." With a sigh, Anika unwinds her arms and reaches for the bag once again. Catherine takes Anika's dress and shift and drops them into the remaining water in the pot, scrubbing them together with a little of the soap.

"Mrs. Young from Albany gave me some of her daughter's clothes. The dresses would probably fit you better but the shifts are loose enough. I know there are a couple in here." She pulls one of the thickly woven winter ones free and gathers it up to drop over her head. It covers her modestly enough but Anika frets with the neckline, pulling it up higher. Catherine wrings out the clothing and drapes it over the chest to dry, cracks the supply room door open and peeks her head out. The men are sitting in front of the fire so she opens the door wider and snatches the top blanket from the bed. Bringing it to Anika, she drapes it over her, flipping an end over her shoulder so it falls gracefully from her and leaves her arms free.

They exit together and Sonehso:wa and Connor move to the sides so the women can sit next to each other in between them. They split what remains of the provisions Sonehso:wa and Anika had obtained from Isaac and share a pot of cooked grains. In the wake of all that had been spoken, the small group finds that quiet is a more appealing state to be in. The awkward tension that had abounded earlier is gone and Anika makes eye contact with Connor, offering him an apologetic smile. He is surprised at her sudden change but he nods at her with a smile of his own, a tacit understanding passing between them. Not knowing what was said between the two women behind the closed door of the supply room, he finds himself feeling indebted to Catherine's defense and grateful for Anika's understanding.

Having bathed and eaten, Anika grows increasingly tired as they sit together in the dark cabin, the only light being the low flames of the fireplace. She covers a yawn and Catherine follows suit, succumbing to the contagious nature of yawns.

"It has been an eventful day. I am feeling the effects of it myself." Connor says to the women. Sonehso:wa snorts.

"You are just getting old, brother." He remarks from a safe distance away on the other side of the women. Connor closes his eyes and sighs, shaking his head and tapping his fingers against his knee in a show of controlling his irritation. Anika looks at Sonehso:wa with worry on her face.

"That was unkind!" Catherine bursts out laughing at Anika's concern.

"This is how they always are!" Connor leans forward and points his finger at Sonehso:wa threateningly.

"Listen to Anika; she is wiser than you. Besides that, you should respect your elders." Sonehso:wa scoffs at Connor's directive.

"I will respect you when you are dried up and wrinkled with more grandchildren than me. Until then…" he shrugs his shoulders and laughs. Anika is starting to enjoy their banter but knowing Sonehso:wa's nature, she suspects it could go on for as long as he has an audience. Catherine has one hand on her forehead. She groans as the men continue to exchange insults.

"Come on, Cat. We will leave them to their game. It seems they wish to catch up on lost time." Catherine stands with her friend and the men cut off their fun to say good night, standing as well. Catherine and Connor move closer to the door and Connor touches her elbow.

"I wish I could have told you all of that in private. I only kept it from you because I did not want to burden you with my responsibilities just yet. Forgive me."

"There's nothing to forgive. You carry a heavy load on these shoulders. I understand your need to shield me from worry." She reaches up and places her left hand on his right shoulder, her forearm resting on his chest. Connor sighs and wonders how she can be so empathetic to him. Should she not be upset at his withholding the complete truth from her?

"I would kiss you if I could be sure Anika would not kill me for it." His lips stretch into a smile, his eyes sparkling with amusement.

"She wouldn't kill you. But maybe we should be polite and wait a while." Connor nods and Catherine moves her hand from his shoulder to the side of his jaw for just a moment, trailing her fingers off his chin as she backs away. Her touch is every bit as intimate as a kiss and Connor has to restrain his urge to grab her hand and pull her back to him, recalling their dalliance that morning with frustrated regret that they had not been able to continue.

As Catherine leaves Connor where he stands by the door, Sonehso:wa is watching Anika walk toward the back of the cabin. His usual bravado and sarcasm are cast aside, leaving his face open with blatant adoration. The instant he sees Catherine, the mask is back in place and an impish grin splits his face. She simply gives him a look that clearly tells him she knows his weakness. He narrows his eyes at her and it is Catherine's turn to smirk.

When Anika climbs into the bed and lies down, she can't hold back her sigh of comfort. It has been a long time since she has laid in a real bed with a real straw mattress and a real feather pillow. The cabin is warm from the fire and she quickly grows warmer under the blankets. Turning on her side, she smiles at Catherine though her lids are already heavy. It is almost like before. Before Francisco and Sergio, before Cat's father was sick, when life was simple and uncomplicated and she and Cat would divulge their deepest secrets and wishes to each other every night, unafraid of the future. Her eyes close and her exhaustion prevents her from opening them again. Somewhere in the distance, Cat's whispered goodnight reaches her ears but only a soft noise escapes her before sleep carries her off completely.

Catherine wakes in the morning to the sounds of the two men gearing up and leaving to hunt. The sun is barely rising outside the windows but the cloudless sky and lack of heavy mist promise a nice day with lots of sunshine. Connor seems determined to get a fresh kill lately and his lack of success has made him restless. A dull ache in Catherine's low back makes her roll onto her side and curl her legs up. Anika is facing her, still deeply asleep with her braid bent over her shoulder, framing one side of her face. Her features are softened by her slumber, making her appear even younger than she is. Catherine wonders how long it has been since she has slept so comfortably.

Unable to fall back to sleep, Catherine rises and makes herself some tea. While it steeps she quietly goes to the supply room and sorts through Connor's collected furs and hides, selecting the appropriate types to make Anika some practical garments. While she sips her tea, she drafts out the designs on the hide with a bit of cold ash, thinking it might be nice to make something a little fancier for her since she has more experience with working this type of material now. Adding in allowances for attractive princess seams, Catherine smiles as she pictures the final product. Maybe she can add a few decorative stitches to adorn the neckline. On a corner of the hide outside her pattern drawings, she practices some flower shaped stitches with the lacing. They are not as refined a design as she can achieve with a traditional needle and thread but it still lends an air of femininity that is sorely lacking from the sturdier look and feel of hide clothing.

Behind her, Anika stirs and rolls over with a sigh. She moves around a few more times before getting up and joining Catherine near the fireplace.

"Where did they go?"

"They're probably hunting. They took their weapons. I think Connor will get something this time. He hasn't been very successful lately and we're both getting a little tired of the smoked meat we've been eating." Anika pulls her braid over her shoulder and starts to unwind it. Her hair holds the shape of the plait, hanging in waves down her back from just below her head.

"Sonehso:wa will be happy to get something too. His injuries kept him from it for a few days after we left Albany and he hated it. He always looked so apologetic when he would come back to me empty handed, as if I would judge him for it. I tried to tell him that it was fine but he wouldn't hear it. I know the men in his tribe are the hunters and protectors while the women are the food cultivators and family caretakers, but he was really taking it hard." Catherine makes a cup of tea for Anika and another for herself. She lifts the corner of the hide on her lap that now has several variations of flowers embroidered on it and shows the patterns to Anika.

"I've started working on a design for some clothes for you. Then you won't be stuck in dresses while out here. It's so much easier to get around when there aren't any skirts tangling around your legs." Anika appears scandalized but then has Catherine stand up so she can look at her clothes more closely. She reaches out her hand and pulls on Catherine's pant leg experimentally.

"You like wearing these things?"

"Yes! I originally decided to make pants when Connor said he would teach me how to shoot his bow but they're so comfortable I can't imagine going back to wearing long skirts…" She trails off as Anika starts laughing.

"Shooting a bow? You? Cat, you're such a MAN! Though I must admit that I would have loved to have had your outlandish divided skirts for our trip… but still… you should have been born a boy with all your unladylike pastimes!" She leans on her arm, laughing and Catherine jabs her leg with her toes, her hands defiantly on her hips.

"I'm good at it, you know. Not as good as Connor but I'm getting better every time I practice. When they come back I'll prove it. He's teaching me all his weapons. The only thing I haven't tried is a gun but I don't think I want to."

"Sonehso:wa told me you threw that tomahawk at him. Oh Cat, what am I going to do with you? You're turning into a wild woman!" Catherine huffs and returns to her place beside Anika.

"Good! But I still have some refinements left. Like sewing. Francisco may not have let me do it but Connor encourages me to." She throws the hide onto Anika and she falls onto her side holding her hands over her mouth to contain her shaking mirth. In a final gesture of her irritation, Catherine gives Anika a smack on her backside where it sticks out from under the hide. A scream of laughter comes from Anika as she fails to hold in her glee any longer. Catherine can't help her own creeping amusement at how ridiculous they must look. Her realization that she doesn't care anymore only makes it easier to laugh about it. There is no one here to see their break from ladylike decorum and even if Connor and Sonehso:wa were present, all they would do is encourage it.

Anika lifts the hide off of her and sits up when she hears Catherine laughing beside her.

"Fine, then, let's make me into a wild woman as well. I'm sure Sonehso:wa will be happy to see me not wearing my corset. He hates it. You should have seen his face when I put it back on. He looked like he had taken a bite of a spoiled apple." She turns her lips inward and frowns, raising her hands out in front of her body and deepening her voice to mock him.

"Jitkwa:'e, I do not like that thing you wear." Catherine laughs at her imitation until she realizes the implications of what Anika just said.

"Wait just one minute! He's seen you in just your shift?" Anika sobers somewhat but does not appear ashamed.

"He's seen me naked, Cat. We're lovers."

"I saw you two kissing last night but I didn't think it had gone farther." A faraway look comes into Catherine's eyes and she stares into the fireplace, a deep crease forming between her eyebrows.

"Did it hurt?" she speaks softly and with a shudder, remembering only the pain of her experiences.

"No… well, a little the first time and I bled a bit but he was gentle with me. It wasn't like what Francisco did to you. It felt good and each time afterwards was better than I ever imagined it could be." Her face is serious and she puts her hand on Catherine's arm.

"Have you and Ratonhnhake:ton…"

"No. Yesterday, before you came, we were… being intimate but it never got past kissing and touching. I want to, I really think I do, and I know he wants it even more but when he was above me I suddenly became afraid. All I could see were my attackers, their horrible faces, the pain, their hate and cruelty. Connor moved away when he saw my fear. He's so afraid of hurting me and I'm beginning to doubt I'll ever escape what happened to me. The memories keep coming back and preventing me from just _letting_ him." Catherine bows her head and Anika loops her arm through hers.

"Oh, my dearest sister. If he loves you as you say he does he'll wait until you're ready and he won't hurt you at all."

"But it's not fair to him. He's wanted me for a long time yet he holds back for my sake."

"As he should, Cat! You were raped! No one walks away from that unscarred." Catherine turns her head away from Anika and lets out a harsh exhale, tasting the acidic truth of her statement.

"That's quite an understatement in my case. I should be grateful he wants me at all."

"What can you possibly mean by that?" Catherine turns her back to Anika and pulls off both of her shirts at once, exposing her scarred back to Anika. From the sounds Anika makes, Catherine knows she is appalled by what she sees. Her warm fingers touch her back, tracing the broken line of the largest scar from her shoulder down to her hip.

"Connor says it's not as bad as he was afraid it would be when he first found me but he says I'll probably be scarred for the rest of my life."

"I think you will be, too." Anika whispers. She removes her hand from the shiny pink line that crosses Cat's back and takes in the scattering of smaller, diagonal scars that surround the gigantic one.

"Maybe, with time, the pinkness will fade and they will blend in with your skin better. There's only the middle that's raised up a little but even that might go away." Anika touches the two portions of the large scar on either side of Catherine's spine where the whip had cut the deepest, slashing through her skin and into her muscles beneath. When Catherine raises her arms to put her shirts back on, the scars move differently from the rest of her skin, wrinkling oddly. Anika sighs and tries to give words of comfort but Cat has already moved on from her injuries.

"I don't know what to say. You're a strong woman. I don't think I could have had the will to survive like you did." Catherine does not have the heart to tell Anika about her suicide attempt. It would serve no positive purpose.

"Connor helped me through it. He never accepted when I felt as if I were corrupted and ruined. He treats me as if I'm the purest of virgins." Her cynical laugh shocks Anika. Though much of Cat is the same, facets of her are changed. She chooses to look past that in favor of being content that her friend is alive. No life would ever be the same after such traumatic events, she muses, including her own.

For several hours, the women work on the hide clothing. They accomplish much more together than Catherine had been able to on her own and by early afternoon they are strolling outside. Catherine's back still aches. All that kneeling and leaning forward to work must have irritated her muscles more. The longer they had worked, the worse it had gotten. It was a relief to stand up and walk around but the ache will not fade.

Catherine tells Anika about the purpose of the bridges and even hops up on one and walks across it. Anika holds her shawl around her shoulders and looks down at her legs as they continue on their walk. She admits that pants are surprisingly more comfortable than skirts and warmer, too. Catherine had even gotten her way with adding designs to Anika's clothing, a swath of embroidered flowers and vines following her neckline and then running down the sides of her legs. Anika's pants cover her black leather boots that button tightly over her ankles, unlike Catherine's, which are tucked inside. All the snow has been gone for quite some time now and the temperature is warmer than average for late March. Catherine leaves her buttons undone on her jacket and they both enjoy the coolness of the breeze on their faces. It feels like spring is coming. The air smells of earth and mulching leaves.

As they return to the cabin, they catch glimpses of Connor and Sonehso:wa through the trees. They have gotten a kill! Catherine remembers the last time they worked by the porch, that fateful day when poor Sonehso:wa had almost gotten hit with a tomahawk. When they are closer, Catherine feels the need to prove to Anika that she really can shoot Connor's bow. The men's bows are leaning against the cabin and she jogs over and takes Connor's. Connor looks at her with amused confusion. Sonehso:wa just looks amused, as usual. Anika crosses her arms as she approaches and tilts her head at Catherine in a long suffering manner. She looks at Sonehso:wa and he shrugs his shoulders at her.

Anika's stance is an unspoken challenge to Cat. Sonehso:wa finds her new clothing to be appealing and cannot wait to tell her how much he likes it. Better yet, he wants to show her how much. With her hair blowing around her, he finds it difficult to have any interest in why Cat has taken a bow in her hands. The weapon is far too big for her anyway.

Catherine strides over behind Connor where he is crouched with his back to the cabin and pulls an arrow from the quiver still on his back. He looks up at her and cocks an eyebrow. Catherine just kisses in his direction and he shakes his head and goes back to his task, knowing she wants to show off. He feigns disinterest but he turns his head enough to watch what she does. Catherine addresses Anika.

"Do you see that piece of hide nailed to the tree over there?" She points with the bow toward a tree. Anika nods and out of the corner of Catherine's eye, she sees that Sonehso:wa has stopped working to watch as well. Connor's head is bent studiously to the carcass but his hands are not moving. She leans her knee against his back and his muscles shake as he represses a silent laugh.

"I will hit it with an arrow."

"I'm breathless with excitement." Anika's voice drips with sarcasm and Sonehso:wa barks out a laugh. Cat nocks the arrow and aims, pulling the string back. She releases and the arrow sinks into the tree a foot above the target. Catherine scoffs in irritation. She is never that inaccurate from such a short distance. Anika gasps and clasps her hands.

"Cat! I didn't believe you could even shoot that thing but you proved me wrong." Her enthusiasm is genuine.

"You missed." Connor's monotone words are laced with amusement so Catherine jerks on the quiver and almost unbalances him as she takes another arrow.

"I know." Her voice is low.

"She was close!" Anika is quick to defend Cat. Connor shrugs his shoulders.

"She still missed." Anika scowls at him and Sonehso:wa speaks up.

"Brother… the draw on that bow is heavy. Why are you being so hard on her?"

"Because I can do it. He's seen me." Catherine says as she aims for her target once again. The arrow hits the tree just outside the hide and Catherine makes an irritated noise in her throat. She snatches a third arrow and Connor sits up straighter to watch. It hits the very center of the piece of hide and Catherine smiles.

"Bravo!" Anika claps her hands but Catherine takes up a fourth arrow, wanting to prove that it is not just a fluke that she sent her arrow true. This time she is sure of the path her arrow will take and it lands just beside the last.

"Now that one, by the cliff." Taking up a fifth arrow, she draws back farther, aiming carefully and thinking about the arc of the arrow. She pulls back just a tiny bit more and adjusts her aim. The arrow hits just left of center in her target. Smiling with pride, she walks to the porch and rests Connor's bow beside Sonehso:wa's. She stops and stares at the two bows, realizing she had taken Sonehso:wa's bow by accident. It is very similarly designed to Connor's, only his colored accents around the wood are a dark orange, not red. No wonder she had missed. She spins around and Connor is smiling at her. He had known all along.

"I didn't know I had taken your bow, Sonehso:wa. I'm usually a better mark with Connor's." Sonehso:wa nods with respect.

"It is difficult to shoot another man's bow accurately without practice. Every bow is different. You did well." Anika gives Catherine a hug.

"I was impressed after your first shot. But your others were even better! Maybe Sonehso:wa will teach me how to shoot someday…" she looks over at him suggestively and he spreads his hands palm up, his hunting knife he had been using to butcher the deer balanced across one palm. He is smiling widely.

"Whatever you want, Jitkwa:'e." Catherine starts walking over to the trees to retrieve the arrows and Anika joins her.

"I knew you would want to learn! You always do that!"  
"Do what?"

"Make fun of me and then join me."

"When have I done that?" Anika laughs innocently, knowing she is guilty of it.

"Riding horses. Drinking. I can go on…"

"Please, spare me!" They laugh and a brief spasm of pain jabs low in Catherine's stomach. It makes her cut her laughter short. Anika turns her head but they have reached the first tree and Catherine reaches up to grasp the highest arrow. She pulls it free with a quick tug and hands it to Anika. The second one is harder to get out but she braces her other hand against the trunk for leverage. She tugs it out, along with the first of the two in the center. When Catherine closes her fingers around the last arrow in the tree, a second stab of pain sears through her abdomen. She cries out, pressing her free hand to her stomach. The pain doesn't fade; it only rises in intensity and she drops to her knees with a breathless, silent scream, the arrow snapping off in her hand.

"Cat! Cat! What's wrong?" Catherine can't answer. Both of her hands are over her stomach and she still grips the broken arrow in her fist. Her body buckles forward and she rests her shoulder against the tree trunk, her head hanging down.

"Cat!" Anika screams and as the pain fades slightly, Catherine becomes aware of hands on her shoulders. She hears footsteps running and suddenly Connor is beside her.

"What is wrong? Tell me!" Catherine winces as Connor pulls her away from the tree and lays her on the ground. He moves her hands off of her stomach, taking the arrow from her grip and casting it aside without even looking at it. He searches for an injury, lifting her shirt up to expose her stomach and finding nothing.

"I don't know! She was pulling the arrows out and then she was holding her stomach, in pain. Cat!" Catherine gasps and brings her hands back over her stomach as soon as Connor lets go of them.

"It's the baby… I think it's leaving me." She speaks through clenched teeth as another powerful wave of cramping twists inside her, making her curl her body involuntarily and scream.

Connor is incapacitated. Is she going to die? She looks like she is being eviscerated. He scoops her up in his arms and holds her against his chest, looking up at Anika. His eyes are wild with fear.

"Can we stop it? What can we do?" Anika shakes her head solemnly at him and he lowers his face to look at Catherine.

"There must be something we can do!"

"It just has to run its course." Catherine's body relaxes slightly in his arms and she sucks in air like a drowning person. She opens her eyes and Connor almost whimpers.

"It's better this way." He shakes his head and his face contorts as she rests her head against his chest, closing her eyes.

Anika doesn't know what to do. Sonehso:wa is as silent as stone as he watches the scene unfold. He takes Anika's hand and finally speaks.

"We need to get her inside." Without a word, Connor stands with Catherine in his arms and moves toward the cabin, his eyes never leaving her face. Movement seems to awaken Anika's senses and she tries to recall what little she has heard about babies and pregnancy and when things go wrong. Sonehso:wa holds the door open and Connor ducks inside with Catherine held snugly to his chest. He lowers her gently to the floor in front of the dead fire and moves until he is holding her up against him, his legs on either side of her. Tears run down her ashen face as she tries to hold in her pain with her hands over her stomach. Connor lowers his hands until they are over hers and whispers into her hair as she arches her back and rides out another wave of agony. Anika faces Sonehso:wa where he has receded against the door.

"I need to get some water boiling and then I will need rags. Lots of them." Her thoughts continue beyond her spoken words. This will be a messy, bloody affair. Anika is afraid. Women have taken ill and died from this. If she loses Cat now, after finally getting her back… she refuses to accept that as an option. Sonehso:wa retrieves the large pot from the storage room and dumps it out over the railing of the porch. He fills it at the small stream by the cliff and returns after several minutes. Loading the fireplace with wood beyond what is necessary, he shoves the pot halfway into the flames, sloshing water onto the hearthstones. Anika enters the supply room, scanning the shelves for what she can use. A ripped bit of fabric catches her eye and she reaches up to a top shelf and pulls it down. It falls from her hands onto the floor and when she lifts it, it is a torn and stained item, only barely distinguishable as a shift but Anika recognizes it as Cat's. Dear lord, is this what she was wearing when Ratonhnhake:ton found her?

Back in the cabin, Catherine's head is lolling against Connor's right shoulder and he strokes her face with his left hand. His right hand is spread over her stomach in a protective pose. Her arms hang loosely over the sides of his legs, the backs of her hands resting on the floor, and she looks dead until he bends his neck and whispers to her. She nods slightly and swallows, taking a deep breath. He looks up at Anika and the fear in his eyes almost knocks her backwards.

"I need to cut this up." She whispers, holding up the tattered shift. Sonehso:wa reaches to the sheath on his chest, only to find it empty. He silently opens the door and retrieves his knife from where he left it next to the deer. Anika takes it from him and drops to her knees next to the hearth, slashing at the thin fabric with an awkward grip on the knife. Cat only has one more intense episode of pain while Anika works before she falls back against Connor, the tracks of her tears shining wetly on her cheeks. Gathering her courage, Anika faces Connor. He won't like what she is about to ask of him.

"I can take her now. It would be best if you and Sonehso:wa leave for the rest of this." He raises his head and looks at her silently for a long time.

"I will not leave her." Anika fights the training she had received as a servant and refuses to bow her head to his authority.

"You must. I'll call for you if I need help…" or if the unthinkable happens, she thinks. His arms tighten around Cat and she opens her eyes and brings her hand up to his arm, her voice just barely above a whisper.

"I'll be fine, Connor. Do as she says, please." The muscles in his neck and jaw tighten and relax rhythmically as he weighs her words.

"If you promise me you will not die, I will do it." A soft laugh that sounds more like a moan comes from her and her voice fades to a whisper.

"I promise. I won't die from this. It's only pain." Anika moves to Connor's side and he looks sharply at her, as if she is a robber about to steal his most valued possession and cast it into the sea. He moves backwards, supporting Catherine with his hands and letting Anika help him lower her onto the floor. With no concern for propriety, for it is beyond what matters now, he leans forward and kisses Catherine on her mouth from where he kneels above her head. She opens her eyes and raises her arms up to him, sliding her fingers into his hair and clutching his shirt in her other hand. He only stops when Catherine pushes against his shoulder. His braid dangles from his head, brushing against the skin of his cheekbone. She smiles and tucks it behind his ear.

"How does this thing not drive you crazy?" Connor takes her hand in his.

"I am used to it." His forced smile falters and he untucks his legs as if he wants to lie beside her. Sonehso:wa steps close and bends to put his hand on his shoulder. Connor flinches away at the touch, getting to his feet without any grace and reluctantly moving toward the door. Sonehso:wa follows him out but at the last moment, Connor turns back so Sonehso:wa raises his left forearm and presses it against his chest, driving him outside and shutting the door behind them. Connor tears his friend's arm from his chest and paces across the porch, staring out at the falls. He has felt fear before, many times, but only one other time has he felt so incredibly helpless as this. When he was a young boy and he watched his mother dying he had felt as if his world were ending, just as it does now. If he had been a man, stronger, he could have saved her. Now his strength is greater than most and yet still he can do nothing to save Catherine and he is left standing, useless, as he waits for it to end, one way or another.

Once the men are gone, Catherine looks at Anika.

"I'm bleeding a lot. I can feel it." Anika helps her take off her jacket and her outer shirt, tossing them over by the window to get them out of the way. Her boots come off next. She shakes out the mat that is being used to protect the floor from wet boots and brings it over to her, dragging the bear hide out from under her hips and replacing it with the old, worn hide. Catherine helps her by lifting her hips and untying the laces of her pants. When Anika pulls them off they are filled with dark, clotted blood. The amount of it is obscene and Anika works at keeping her face smooth and serene. She reaches for one of the cut up pieces of fabric piled on the hearth and dips it into the still cool water in the pot on the fire. The first few rags seem like they are only pushing the blood around even though they quickly become saturated but eventually, as the collection of sanguineous rags grows, she starts to make headway with the mess.

Catherine pushes herself to a seated position and a wave of dizziness almost makes her fall backwards. A new gush of blood leaves her body, pooling on the hide and running into the heap of bloody rags between her legs. It is then that her emotions finally overtake her. Memories of wanting to fall off the cliff into the tumultuous waters below make her shake. If she had known that it would all end just a few weeks later she never would have thought about it. Despite believing that with Connor's acceptance of this baby everything would turn out well in the end, she had feared its arrival daily. Always, it was in the back of her mind, a creeping doubt that hid itself behind false bravery and her love for Connor, darting out to haunt her dreams and the darkest corners of her thoughts when she least expected it or of she was idle for too long. Anika's hands are smeared with blood and the sight of it is too much. Her lips quiver and tears roll down her cheeks.

"Cat, you'll be alright." Catherine shakes her head, her words broken by sobs and gasping breaths.

"It's not that. I'm relieved. I'm so relieved! I convinced myself- that it would all turn out fine- because Connor wanted it. God, he wanted to be its- father and I still don't fully understand -how he accepted it so easily. I wanted to kill myself when I first realized- I was pregnant but he wouldn't let me." Anika raises her head from her task and rests her arm on Catherine's knee. Her eyes are so wide Catherine can see the entire circle of her bright green irises. She speaks slowly.  
"Then I am more indebted to him than ever for stopping you." Catherine can no longer speak and her arms shake from blood loss and the effort of holding herself up. She flops backward onto the floor, covering her face and letting the tears pour from her. In a way, should she not be grateful for this pregnancy? Didn't it help her see the depth of Connor's love for her? He had promised to raise the child as his own, to love it as its father, because it meant being with her. He had seemed genuinely happy when she had agreed to it and the way he touched her stomach… as if he were trying to hold the unborn child in his hands…hold it inside her. She wonders what he's thinking at this moment. What is he feeling? Knowing how deeply his emotions run, a fathomless well of raw, elemental passion that burns and freezes, howls and whispers, claws and caresses, she fears the ruin of his very soul.

Connor alternates between pacing the porch and leaning on the railing, his shoulders hunched and his hands balling into fists or hanging slack by his sides. Sonehso:wa knows he would be unable to stop him if he really wanted to get back inside but he stands vigilant by the doorway nonetheless. As time passes, Connor becomes even more agitated and he steps off the porch and starts to walk down toward the trail. Suddenly spinning on his heels, he sprints back to the cabin, a look of ragged fear on his face. Sonehso:wa leaves his post, dragging the chair from the other side of the chimney to place it in front of the door. It will buy him one extra second of time to stop Connor if he tries to go in. He moves to the deer they had caught and works on finishing the butchering they had started, using Connor's knife and laying the cuts of meat on the skin beside him. Connor sits in the chair and rests his elbows on top of his knees, holding his head in his hands and being still for the first time in over an hour. Sonehso:wa's eyes flick upward at him from time to time to make sure he has not moved.

When Anika opens the door, Connor leaps to his feet, knocking the chair aside the moment he hears her hand touch the latch. His eyes lock onto Cat's form where she lies in bed. Anika steps aside and he moves past her silently, almost as if he is afraid a single sound from him will cause everything to come crashing down around him. When he arrives at the bed he crouches down and reaches a hand toward Cat. The moment he touches her face, she opens her eyes and Connor breathes out, falling to his knees beside the bed.

Taking the rolled up hide out from behind her back, Anika steps outside and drops it on the porch. Connor's face had startled her when she had opened the door. He seemed to have aged ten years in an hour. She picks up the chair, righting it, and slumps down, exhausted. Sonehso:wa is by her side in an instant.

"Will she survive?" Anika raises her head and nods.

"Yes, I believe so. It seems the worst is past. She's weak and just needs to rest now." She gestures to the rolled up hide at her feet.

"We should get rid of that before Ratonhnhake:ton sees it. There was a lot of blood." Sonehso:wa stares at it, seeing the red tinged edges of the hide.

"I will take it into the woods and bury it. Will you come with me and say some words for the spirit of the baby?" Anika nods and picks up the rolled up hide and Sonehso:wa takes the shovel from its place against the side of the cabin. Together they walk through the woods to a sunny spot near a large stone that is half buried in an upright fashion in the ground.

"This is where Ratonhnhake:ton buried the man who built the cabin. Would Cat find it wrong to bury her baby here?"

"I don't think so. It's just bloody rags and a hide, Sonehso:wa. There's no body to bury."

"There was still a life in her. We must show honor to the spirit of it however we are able." Anika lowers her head and looks at the grave in the trees. She walks to a place several feet away and taps the ground with the toe of her boot.

"Here, then. Far enough away so it does not appear to be related to the other grave." Sonehso:wa starts to dig and Anika stands to the side, respectful of his solemn work. When the hole is quite deep and Sonehso:wa has excavated several rocks with the dirt, he reaches his hands out to Anika. She picks up the hide, hands it to him and watches as he carefully places it in the bottom of the hole. He murmurs some words in his language. When he finishes, he looks expectantly at Anika. She kneels beside him and, lacking any other ideas of what to do, prays quietly in German, refraining from using the typical prayers of Christianity and instead using personal words from her heart and sending them into the heavens. She wonders if what she says is sacrilegious or not, since the baby was never born or baptized into any religion, but somehow it feels more appropriate to beg God to bring Cat peace and to remember the lost soul of the child with mercy.

Sonehso:wa fills in the hole and stacks the rocks over the mounded dirt, pressing them down carefully. When he is done he moves to Anika's side and she takes his dusty hand in hers for the walk back to the cabin.

Catherine turns her head and opens her eyes when Connor kneels beside the bed and touches her face. The same blue-grey color that never fails to pull him in looks back at him but the woman they belong to is different. A pain suffuses her expression and covers her like an invisible web, even in the deepest part of her eyes. It is not a physical pain but an emotional one, one he has seen in her eyes before. He saw it when he first found her and had her arms in his hands as she struggled to hit him with his tomahawk. He saw it after he told her what he learned about her father in law at the cabin. He saw it when she tried to kill herself. It is something so dark that his eyes want to slide over it, past it or through it. It is a thing that does not want to be seen and it hurts when he tries to force his eyes to stay fixed upon it. When she opens her mouth to speak, her words are unexpected.

"I'm sorry, Connor. I'm a failure." He shakes his head and reaches under the blankets to find her hand.  
"No, do not say that."

"But I am. I know you wanted to be a father and my body took that away from you. Maybe if I had wanted it more…"

"Shhh. These things just happen, sometimes. It is not your fault. My concern is for you right now." Catherine squeezes his fingers in her hand and Connor leans forward and kisses her, stroking her hair at the crown of her head. When he pulls back, he sees less of the bleakness that had darkened her gaze so drastically.

"How is your pain? Does it still hurt?"

"Only a little. It comes and goes but the worst is definitely over. Will you make me some of that tea you made when you first found me?" Connor starts to rise to his feet but Catherine tightens her grip on his hand.

"Not yet. I meant later. Right now I want you to stay here, with me." She reaches her hand out from under the blankets and Connor leans close, taking her in his arms as gently as if she is a breakable thing of wonder. She holds him as tightly as she can until her sleepiness begins to loosen her muscles. Connor settles back to a crouch beside the bed and lightly strokes her face and neck until her eyes close and she is breathing deeply. Only when he is sure she is asleep does he get to his feet and prepare the herbs for the tea, bringing the mortar and a mug to the chair by the bed, ready for hot water when she wakes.

Sonehso:wa and Anika return and Connor leaves Catherine's side to prepare the smoker only when Anika promises to come tell him the moment she stirs. He and Sonehso:wa work together at filling it and getting the fire going.

"We buried some things that held the remnants of the child in them out in the woods. I spoke the words to aid it on its journey from this world and Anika said some things in her tongue to her spirits as well." Connor stares at the flames and speaks quietly.

"Thank you, my brother. I am grateful for that. I will say the words as well." He moves into the woods, leaving Sonehso:wa alone by the smoker as the sun slowly starts to set.

Catherine wakes to the smell of fresh meat cooking. For a brief moment, it reminds her of the smell of the blood that had left her body earlier and her stomach clenches in nausea but it soon passes when it also brings with it the scent of herbs, cooking grains and smoking fat. She opens her eyes and Connor is sitting in the chair beside the bed, holding a mug in his hands that sends up curls of steam into the air. She sits up and her arms remind her of how weak she feels still. Connor's concerned watchfulness is comforting and she takes the mug from him with her hands over his, lingering as long as she can to maintain contact with him. Anika comes over with two plates of food a short time later, giving one to Connor and one to Catherine.

"Thank you, Anika, for what you have done. You are very kind." He levels his eyes at her and she takes his greater meaning to heart, knowing it is not just in regards to the food she brought them. She smiles at him and bows her head, returning to Sonehso:wa knowing Ratonhnhake:ton will tell Cat what they did earlier when the time is right.

"He loves her, doesn't he?" Catherine asks Connor when the quiet sounds of Anika and Sonehso:wa's conversation trickle back to them.

"I think so. I am surprised to see him this way. He used to enjoy chasing after pretty women as often as they would take notice of him… which was often. It seems Anika has managed to snare him for herself."

"From what she has told me, it was her hair that first caught him." As if he had heard her words, they watch as Sonehso:wa's hand rises to the ends of Anika's still wavy hair covering her back and he loops a section of it between his fingers. It makes them both laugh and Connor finds himself feeling drastically relieved at seeing Catherine able to smile beside him. She is dressed in a white shift instead of her usual clothes and Connor finds himself thinking of when he first saw her in her bedraggled and frightened state, the shift she wore barely qualifying as a piece of clothing. Now she is calm, if a little pale, but beautiful in the clean white dressing gown. It is a striking contrast and Connor's heart beats faster at the comparison, making him jumpy. He takes their plates and brings them outside to wash along with Anika's and Sonehso:wa's.

In the time it takes for him to wash the dishes, Anika has changed into the shift she wore the previous night for sleeping. She is sitting on the other side of the bed from Catherine, her knees tucked up as she talks with her friend. Sonehso:wa is laying out his bedroll so Connor does the same, returning to Catherine to steal a final kiss from her. He nods to Anika and readies himself for bed, taking off his shirt and lying down. Attempts to settle himself enough to sleep fail and he finds he can only sit and stare into the fire. Sonehso:wa joins him for some time but even he leaves to sleep after a while. Connor cannot. His heart pounds in his chest and his thoughts will not cease tormenting him with visions of Catherine's suffering. The distance between them feels too great even though they are only a room apart.

The bed creaks and Connor tenses his body, stilling his urge to turn his head and look at Catherine for what feels like the thousandth time that night. He reaches for a log and pushes it into the fire instead. When he sits upright, the rustle of fabric behind him makes him instinctively reach back and grab for the threat. His hand closes on a small wrist and Anika lets out a gasp. Connor lets go of her immediately.

"I apologize. I do not do well when people try to sneak up on me." Anika rubs her wrist with her left hand and stands with a large gap between them.

"I understand. I only came over because… you seem like you can't sleep."

"That is correct. I am full of disturbing thoughts that keep me awake. You need not concern yourself with me." She steps closer and crouches down beside him.

"But I am concerned. Let me help you." She takes hold of his arm with both of her hands wrapped around his bicep. Confused, Connor stands up with her. Anika's lips part as she cranes her head to look up at him, a flash of worry appearing in her eyes for a brief moment. She backs toward the bed and Connor starts to walk toward the chair he had occupied earlier next to Catherine's side of the bed.

"No. Not there." Anika pulls on his arm again and leads him to her side of the bed. She points to the turned down blankets beside Catherine.

"Get in. It's where you want to be and I won't keep it from you any longer."

"I will not make you sleep on the floor."

"You aren't making me. I'm choosing to. I love Cat and I have missed her but I also love Sonehso:wa and I think I would rather sleep with him. Your place is with Cat... she needs you." Connor holds his breath, unable to speak for the overflow of gratitude he feels for Anika's selfless act. Taking her arms in both of his hands, he looks down at her for a long time before he can make any words come from his mouth. When they do, it is in a rush of exhaled relief.

"Nya:wen, Anika. Nya:wen." He lets go of her and turns to climb into the bed, feeling weaker the closer he gets to Catherine's sleeping form. She is what he needs to find his strength again if he can just reach her, touch her, hold her close and smell her skin and hair. His left hand finds her waist and he wraps his body around hers, conforming himself to her shape and pressing his face into the back of her neck and inhaling her scent deep into his lungs. She stirs in her sleep, covering his hand with hers and settling into his body. Connor's heart slows as his whirling mind grinds to a painful halt, giving him peace at last and allowing his body to fall into a restful sleep.

A soft sound in the dark draws Catherine out of a dream. She can't remember what she was dreaming of but she doesn't care because a familiar arm is over her body, the fingers of a familiar hand curled gently in sleep just below her chin. She smiles and wonders how Connor managed to trick Anika into giving up her place in the bed. Moving her eyes toward the fireplace, her ears catch another muffled sound, reminding her of what woke her in the first place. The light in the cabin is dim, a crescent moon providing only the faintest of moonlight. Still, her eyes are able to discern the shape of Anika and Sonehso:wa. Sonehso:wa is kneeling and Anika sits astride his legs. Her back is to Catherine and it's quite obvious that she is completely naked. The darkness of Sonehso:wa's arms cross her back, contrasting with her pale skin, the arm placed higher on her shoulders partially covered by her hair.

Feeling slightly wrong for watching, yet fascinated by the act of lovemaking performed by two people who care for each other, Catherine moves her position slightly so she can see clearly while still having her head on the pillow and appearing to be asleep. Her body tenses when she thinks of the many ways she was cruelly violated and she almost gasps when Sonehso:wa suddenly lowers Anika onto her back. He looms over her but Anika is smiling. So is Sonehso:wa. He sits up and looks down at Anika, his smile soft, full of affection and desire. His hands reach out to her breasts but instead of squeezing them roughly and making her cry out in pain, he caresses them softly and she puts her hands over his, tipping her head back, her face a picture of ecstasy and pleasure. Sonehso:wa reaches to his erection and moves his body, poised to enter her and Anika slides her right hand up his arm, her left lying on the floor beside her head. She squeezes his arm and Sonehso:wa leans forward to kiss Anika, his dark hair falling down around their heads. Anika makes muffled noises as Sonehso:wa moves over her rhythmically, her legs wrapped around his hips and her toes curling and uncurling. She claws at his shoulder, leaving marks on his skin yet he keeps his pace slow as her legs shift against his side and she lifts her hips from the floor to meet him.

Anika had clearly not been exaggerating when she had talked of sex being pleasurable. The moment Sonehso:wa sits back from kissing her, her sounds of enjoyment are instantly louder. She gasps and pants, tipping her head back and holding onto his wrists as he supports her pelvis with his hands. His hair dangles from over his shoulders, swaying in the space above Anika and his breathing becomes erratic as he continues to thrust into her, tilting his face upwards and closing his eyes. A sheen of sweat forms on Sonehso:wa's body, catching the small amount of moonlight and outlining his physique. He truly is an attractive man and Anika's body is beautiful beneath his, her breasts shifting slightly with every move he makes. Catherine is entranced by the sight of them enjoying each other so completely. Anika pulls on Sonehso:wa's wrists and he bends forward and kisses her breasts, licking her nipples hungrily and making her moan. That seems to break their trancelike enjoyment for a moment and Sonehso:wa stops his movement, his lips forming the shape of when a shushing noise is made. Anika tosses her head from side to side in frustration but then nods with a smile, taking his head in her hands and kissing him. He places a hand on the floor beside her head and uses his other to lift her hips into his next thrust. Moving quickly, he brings them both to their climax, leaving them panting and sweating where they lie.

Closing her eyes, lest they happen to notice her watching, Catherine finds herself envious of the ease in which Anika has given herself to Sonehso:wa. She wishes it were so easy for her to just let go of her fears. Sliding her hand up and into Connor's where it still lies near her face, she pulls his hand against her chest tightly. He shifts behind her and tightens his arm around her waist briefly before heaving a sigh and returning to the even breathing and relaxed state of deep sleep. Catherine is sure all it will take is once with Connor for her to have all the bliss she just witnessed between Anika and Sonehso:wa. A new feeling of courage fills her as she thinks of how eagerly Anika had wanted Sonehso:wa inside her. It must be the antithesis of what Catherine had endured, this meeting of two bodies, flushed with desire and full of love, ready to give and receive. There was no taking in what she had witnessed. Not a single act was unwilling or unappreciated, except for having to restrain their expressions of enjoyment. It had been difficult to discern who had enjoyed it more and Catherine has faith that someday, she may know the answer to that question.


	16. Chapter 16

Exodus

**Author's note- This chapter has been posted with some content removed to comply with site policy on explicit content. See my profile for the location of the unedited version.**

Catherine spends most of her time in bed the day after her miscarriage. She wants to move, to be active and escape the confines of the cabin but her body is weak and her energy nonexistent. Being helpless frustrates her, making her angry and irritated with her inabilities and though she finishes "Don Quijote," she only does so out of a reluctance to leave it so near the end. Its entertainment value is dampened considerably by her foul mood. Anika spends most of her time by her side, picking out the lacing from Catherine's pants and using the pieces of stained hide to trace out a pattern for a new pair. Catherine readies the new pattern for stitching by poking holes along the edges of the hide with the awl as Anika cuts them out, handing each piece back as she completes it. Anika uses the salvaged lacing to join the pieces together, tying new lacing in with the old when necessary. When they are done Catherine insists on getting dressed and sitting outside.

Anika supports her around her waist until she is sitting in the chair overlooking the gorge and then retrieves one from inside so she can sit beside her. The air is chilly in the shade of the covered porch and Catherine leans forward to extend her arm over the railing, letting her palm slip into the sunlight slanting down from high above. Sounds of conversation from the men and the strong scent of hickory smoke waft from around the corner of the cabin and merge with the cool, grey smell of wet stone and the more pungent, earthy odor of the moss that grows on the wood of the porch and decorates the cliffs surrounding the gorge. Mist slowly collects on her skin, reflecting the sunlight and beading into tiny droplets on the fine hairs that cover the back of her hand. Catherine finds herself wishing for the first growth of spring to start showing through the bleakness of the landscape. The deciduous trees are skeletal where they stand between the dark needled pines of the forest. Faded, dead grass lies flattened and dry over the ground and is devoid of all but the palest of color. The environment has been sapped of its richness over the winter and it calls to the sun, begging for its warmth to bring forth the first flush of green. The interim between the cold snows of winter and the explosion of life in the spring is a time of stagnation, waiting and restlessness for Catherine; she has always hated it.

Just as the earth begs for a change, so does Catherine. She has not left the confines of the little cabin and its surrounding area for two months. Before that, she was a captive, held down and locked up for almost three weeks. Though this little haven of peace and tranquility is a treasure and she loves it, being confined has never been agreeable to her nature. She thinks about Connor's promise he had made to bring her to his village. As soon as she is strong again she will ask.

She almost does two days later when Connor gives her his arm and they walk into the woods alone. The smell of pine sap is strong here and Catherine closes her eyes and breathes deeply as Connor leads her. He comes to a stop and Catherine opens her eyes. They are standing by the grave of the old man but now a newly turned pile of earth covered in stones is nearby. Catherine's breath hitches in her chest and her throat constricts. Unable to speak, she raises her hand to the neckline of her shirts, knowing that something to do with her miscarriage is buried there. Connor moves so his arm is around her waist and speaks in the soft way he always does, looking not at her but at the grave before them.

"Anika and Sonehso:wa buried the things that held the blood of your lost baby." Catherine makes a choking sound and covers her mouth.

"Why?" is all she can manage to say. Connor guides her down to kneel with him beside the stony mound. He takes her hands in his and looks into her troubled eyes.

"All living things are spirits and their bodies that contain them must be treated with respect. When we are finished here, our spirits want to return to the SkyWorld where they came from. It is a long and difficult journey and without the help of the living to guide them, they can become lost. We speak words to help them and return their bodies to the earth. Sonehso:wa and I spoke the words of our custom. Anika spoke words in her language as well, though Sonehso:wa did not understand what she said." Catherine is overwhelmed by the dignified way in which all of this had been handled. While she had not felt inclined to give it deeper thought, Connor had opened her eyes to a different view. Touched by their efforts, she is no longer able to contain her tears. She cries more for the gesture and what it means than the actual grave or what it contains. Despite her emotional upheaval and the mixed feelings she had harbored toward her pregnancy, what they did feels incredibly right.

Connor hugs her tightly as she weeps. When she sits back on her heels, she turns toward the small pile of rocks and places her hands on them.

"What do your people say? Don't say the words in English, say them in your language." Connor speaks the words slowly, letting her repeat them as best she can with her tears wetting the rocks as they fall from her face. Never before had she felt any kind of connection to the life she had contained within her body but viewing it as a spirit like any other, not as a burden, gives her a way to face what happened to her. It is enough to help clear the awful weight of hating the life inside her from her conscience.

Days pass slowly and tension builds in Catherine as she waits for her bleeding to stop. For six long days after her miscarriage, she diligently continues to use the leftover strips of cloth cut from her old shift to absorb the last vestiges of that stage in her life. Her body feels lighter but her heart yearns to be free. She and Anika start taking the horses out, exploring the area above the cabin but never go near where Catherine had been kept by her captors. Heeding Connor's heartfelt warning, Catherine always insists on keeping their paths to the North and West of the cabin. Their little adventures help but Connor is right. She needs to be around people and these final days of March dragging slowly by have become too much to bear.

Rolling over in bed, Catherine rests her head on Connor's arm. He moves to accommodate her and she kisses his shoulder.

"Connor…" He tightens his arm on her.

"Mmmh?" He rumbles sleepily.

"I was thinking about something you said a while ago." His eyes open and he turns to give her his full attention.

"You said that we would go to your village. Do you still want to take me there?"

"Yes." Catherine is quiet as she traces her fingers over the contours of Connor's torso. When he does not add anything to his monosyllabic response, she lays her hand flat on his stomach.

"I'm strong enough to travel now. You don't have to worry about that anymore." He takes her hand in his and she hears and feels his quick, quiet exhalation through his nose. She does not have to look at him to know he is smiling.

"How can you know my thoughts, WildCat?" Catherine scoots up higher in bed and kisses his cheek.

"Because you once said you will always worry about me." Connor rolls on his side and lays Catherine back beside him. He strokes her cheek with his left hand.

"That is true. We will go. It will be a different lifestyle there than you have known here or in New York."

"Connor. After everything… I think I can handle it." He leans in close and kisses her, tasting her mouth as if for the first time. He had been so careful with her in the days after her miscarriage, kissing her with the lightest touch of his lips on hers, afraid of breaking her. Now a hunger has split open in both of them that had been held at bay for too long. Catherine's hands are small but she has a secret strength in them. The slightest touch, the lightest gesture and he has no ability to resist her. He draws her body tightly to his and she bends her leg up, looping it over his hips. As if it has a will of its own, his left hand slides down her back, following the curves of her body and gliding over the fullness of her buttocks and up along the bottom of her thigh. He drags on her leg, inching her closer to his body and tightening his fingers behind her knee. Catherine inhales at his more aggressive touch. Connor's stomach tightens with his usual concern for her limits but she digs her fingers into his neck and the back of his shoulder, deepening their kiss and biting his lower lip. With a low groan, he rolls on his back, pulling her astride his waist. She breaks from the kiss and lies on his chest, their fingers intertwining as they both catch their breath.

Catherine sits up and raises their laced fingers up over Connor's head. He gives her a crooked smile that is loaded with suggestion and she twists to look towards the fireplace. The cabin is silent and she is fairly certain Anika and Sonehso:wa are asleep. Those two are always in each other's arms in the mornings, as if they are not aware that there are two mats available to sleep on. It is hard to be sure in the darkness but they appear to be in their usual position; Anika is curled against Sonehso:wa's body with her head on his shoulder. Turning back to Connor, she catches the shine of his eyes where the moonlight reflects off of them as he detangles his hands from hers and runs them along her arms, down her sides and rests them on the sides of her thighs.

The texture of her fabric shirt feels strange in her hands as she crosses her arms in front of her body and grasps the bottom edges of it in her fingers. It seems to take an age but she pulls her shirt up and over her head, dropping it beside her leg on the bed and looking down at Connor. Except for his eyes, he is not breathing, not even moving where he lies underneath her. They take in all of her, returning to her face often but always being pulled in a new direction. In contrast to his stillness, Catherine is breathing quickly, her heart pounds in her chest and a tremor runs through her body. Her impulsive decision to bare herself boldly to him feels reckless, yet it is done. As her tension mounts, she does not know what to do with her hands so she places them on Connor's chest to steady herself. Connor lets out the breath he had been holding and his fingers twitch against her legs.

"WildCat…" His hands rise to her waist as he whispers and their warmth against her exposed skin sends shivers up her body. Slowly, his hands move further up her torso and Catherine bends her arms and meets him half way as he sits up to kiss her. He finds her breasts and she presses into his touch, bringing her hands around his shoulders. Connor slips one hand out from between them and grasps her thigh, pulling her closer. A sudden urge to give him all of herself makes her weak with longing and fear. What if it hurts? How can it not? Her body must have revealed her thoughts, for Connor leans back on his elbows and looks at her.

"Do not do this if you are not ready." His voice is low, only barely above a whisper. Catherine sits up and steadies herself with her hands on his chest.

"I will never be ready, so I need to just do it and get over my fear."

"No. This is not a fear to be brushed aside. I will not just 'do it' with you."

"Why not? I know you suffer for our games. I've seen what you have needed to do when you thought I was sleeping."

"You… watched me?" His face is more surprised than she had ever seen before.

"I didn't watch you specifically… I just noticed. It makes me sad that you have to." She drops her eyes, staring at her curls where they lie over her shoulders, partly concealing her breasts.

"You should not worry about my satisfaction."

"You're worried about mine…" Connor tips his head slightly to the side and waits for her to look at him.

"I want it to be perfect." Catherine smiles at his innocent, naïve wish. He means well and she understands what he is trying to say but her cynical side knows it will not be perfect. It will be a traumatizing experience in her head even if her body feels differently, she is sure. Something skips in her brain and it makes her pause. She thinks about how far they have come with intimacy and reconsiders the assumption she had just made about sex. Connor has touched her in many of the places where she had only known hurt and she does not flinch away or worry about it anymore. On the contrary, she quite enjoys it. Maybe it can be done without fear if she approaches it carefully. Catherine lays her hands on Connor's stomach and shimmies farther down so she is sitting on his thighs.

"Then let me do this my way a little longer." Connor scrutinizes her face but does not stop her when she moves her hands to the laces on his pants. He is unsure of what she intends with her actions but he is certain he will not allow her to have sex with him just to get it over with. If that is what she has in mind it will be very difficult for him to restrain himself and he strengthens his resolve further. Catherine's face is expressionless as she pulls the laces out of his pants one by one but her hands falter when she nears the bottom. She moves to kneel by his right side, looking at his face. What does she want of him? Moving her hands slowly to the sides of his pants, she lowers her eyes to him and tentatively pulls the top edge down, exposing his dark pubic hair. So she wants to see him. That is harmless enough. Connor raises his hips and helps her take his pants off. He is not as aroused as he had been, for their interaction has become rather strange and almost clinical.

Catherine reaches toward him slowly, touching him with only her fingertips. Connor's right hand twitches where it lies on his stomach but he makes no move to stop her. The skin of his penis is warm, mobile and delicate, covering the entire length of it except for the very tip. He looks different from her husband and the men who had raped her: smoother, darker and a fair bit bigger. His people do not widely practice the religions of the rest of the world so it makes sense for him to be uncircumcised. She strokes her fingers lightly along him, tracing over a raised vein and watching as he grows harder under her touch. The foreskin withdraws slightly, exposing more of the tip. Connor takes a deep, slow breath, attracting Catherine's attention with his measured exhale. He watches her with dilated eyes and his lips softly parted. Catherine catches a hint of the same lusty enjoyment on his face as she had seen in her attackers but the circumstances are so very opposite. His body is relaxed and it is through her own motivation that she touches him at all. The men who had violated her had used her body like an instrument, forcing it to their will with their cruel, twisted kind of lust and they were never relaxed. She had refused to stop fighting no matter what they did even though she knew most of their enjoyment came from the very moment her body would fail her and any remaining defiance would be confined to her eyes and her mind.

The contrast between what she had experienced and the lovemaking she had seen between Anika and Sonehso:wa is so sharp it slices her in two, dividing her mind from her body. Everything they did was the most beautiful expression of mutual pleasure. Every touch, every movement, every breath was freely given and fully accepted. She wants that with Connor but it seems like a dream of impossibility when her instinctive reaction is still to recoil from his touch at times. Looking at Connor where he lies, his body partly propped up against the headboard of the bed, she thinks about the times their fragmented foreplay had driven him to secretly pleasure himself. Though they had kissed and sometimes caressed, he had never asked anything further of her or expected her to please him. He had sacrificed or delayed his pleasure, never allowing it to intrude on her comfort level. She finds herself wanting to give him more, simply because he will never demand it of her. Isn't that worth more than temporary nervous discomfort? Curling her fingers around him, she takes him in her hand. Connor's eyes open wide and he quickly moves his arm from his stomach to take her wrist, staying any further movement.

He shakes his head, his face full of concern. Catherine leans over and kisses him, using her left hand to attempt removing his restraining grip. He resists her so she draws away just enough to whisper to him.

"Let me…" Connor's eyes look deeply into hers and Catherine meets them levelly. As soon as he releases her wrist she moves her hand down. Connor groans and his shoulders press back against the headboard, his left hand tightening into a fist in the sheets. His teeth are clenched as if he is fighting against enjoying what she is doing. Keeping the movement of her hand slow, she strokes the length of him gently several times. His breathing deepens and he twists the sheets in his fist. Catherine stops and he gasps out a breath, opening his eyes and looking at her. Leaning close, she kisses him, touching her tongue to his lips until he brings his right hand onto her back. He sweeps her hair aside and presses his palm to her skin, pulling her close.

Using her left hand on his chest for balance, Catherine brings her right leg over so she is straddling his legs once more. She resumes the movement of her right hand and Connor kisses her, releasing the sheets and bringing his left hand to her breast. Catherine leans back enough to watch as he reacts to her touch. When she moves her hand a little faster his breathing becomes harsher and he makes a low noise in his throat. There is something empowering about seeing him so… at her mercy, yet enjoying it.

Connor moves his right hand to her other breast, managing to crack his eyes open enough to see her. Catherine is studying his face with obvious interest, maybe even fascination, as she touches him. He can barely form a coherent thought when she is doing this. A creeping guilt encroaches on the edges of his mind that she is catering to his flesh, that he is using her for selfish satisfaction and he is no better than the men who abused her. His train of thought dissipates, slipping through his grasp even as he tries to hold onto it amid the building tension within him. He tries to focus attempting to give her some pleasure in return but his climax is rushing towards him at an alarming speed and he will be unable to control it without having her stop completely. Attempting to quell his ecstasy is making him sweat and he gives up trying to resist. His muscles feel as if they have turned to water and his arms fall to his sides without him knowing. His body tenses and he lifts his shoulders from the bed and raises his chin back, pressing the top of his head against the headboard as his pleasure seizes him and sends waves of heat and surging spasms through his stomach and groin.

Trying not to think too much about why she had learned to recognize when a man is about to reach his climax, she notices as his stomach tenses and he finishes. She leans over to kiss him when his body drops back against the bed. In a daze, he pants as he recovers, sporadically kissing her between gasps until he brings his arms up and holds her. Catherine's heart is racing from the experience. She had his pleasure fully in her control and she had been the one to bring him to his climax. He had obviously enjoyed it and she feels as if she has won a victory. She smiles against his lips and wants to crow in exhilarated delight.

Catherine sits up with such a self-satisfied smirk on her face that Connor can't help but smile back. It seems she enjoyed the experience more than he thought. Spotting her shirt crumpled under her knee, he tugs it out and Catherine snatches it from his hand and seems suddenly embarrassed as she hastily cleans the result of her attentions. Connor tosses his pants off the side of the bed and then takes the balled up shirt from Catherine and carelessly sends it sailing through the air to join his pants on the floor. He sits up and takes her in his arms, whispering into her ear.

"Now I have neglected your pleasure. I am indebted to you." Connor nips at the lobe of her ear and the side of her neck with his lips, delighting in the shivers that traverse her body under his touch. He slides his hands up and down her back, feeling the changing texture of her skin as his fingers pass over her scars. Despite the permanence of her markings and the awful reason for their existence he memorizes every one, appreciating them as part of who she is now. He thinks of the scars that decorate his body, each one the evidence of a battle lost or won, and serving as reminders of what he fights for. Hopefully Catherine can view hers in the same light. As he trails kisses down her shoulder and leans her back to move between her breasts, she stops him with her hands on the sides of his head. Slowly, she slides her fingers up through his hair and pulls the tie out of his pony tail. His hair falls down against his cheeks and she bends to kiss him.

"Just hold me. That's all I want right now." Connor looks up at her with his penetrating gaze and lies down slowly, taking her with him. Her body settles comfortably against his, partly draped over his right side and he strokes her right arm softly with his fingers. He wants to make love to her but only if she will view it as more than just defeating a fear. Her fear defines her too much and she is trying to turn it into just another challenge to overcome. Maybe that is the only way she can face it right now. Is he wrong to keep trying to influence her to stop viewing sex as an adversary? The last thing he wants is for her to think it is an obligation she owes him. He wants her to desire it, to crave it, even. Sighing, he kisses her forehead and reminds himself that he needs to be patient and let things progress naturally.

Anika grins conspiratorially from where she is sitting by herself at the fireplace the next morning when Catherine opens her eyes. With a start, she remembers that Connor is still naked and she is topless in his arms. She is surprised Connor is asleep so late. Usually he is up and out of bed at the first hint of the sun. As soon as she moves he stirs and cracks his eyes open. The bright morning sun makes him squint and he sits up, his hair falling in disarray around his face. Raising his left hand, he scoops it up and looks around for his hair tie. Catherine finds him exceptionally attractive in this slightly sleepy and rumpled state so she curls her fingers over the item he seeks and smiles as he searches the blankets, lifting them up and running his hand under them, feeling for the elusive tie. After a fruitless search he notices her watching him and his look of concentration changes to narrow eyed, playful suspicion.

Catherine looks like a cat who has gotten a fat mouse and he knows she is hiding his hair tie. Aware that Anika is watching them with obvious amusement he pulls the blankets higher as he moves closer to Catherine. He brings his face close to hers and whispers in her ear.

"You have something of mine." Catherine opens her eyes wide and gives him an innocent look.

"Do I?" In answer to her mischievous goading, he drops his mouth to the corner of her neck and shoulder and kisses her. Catherine squirms under him.

"Anika is right there watching us!" Connor smiles against her skin, tickling her with his laugh. Despite her protest she does not push him away.

"Let her watch, then…" He slips his hand up and covers her breast, lightly tweaking her nipple. Catherine gasps and rolls out of the bed, careless of her nakedness in front of Anika and stranding him with only the blankets to keep him modest. Anika laughs from where she is sitting and Catherine dangles the tie from her fingers at Connor, knowing he cannot get it from her now. He sits up and rests his arm over the top of the blankets.

"I will have that, woman."

"But you're not clothed." She toes his pants by her feet and Connor grasps the edge of the blankets as if to throw them off.

"My people are not restricted by your understanding of modesty." Just as he speaks, the creaking of footsteps on the porch draw Catherine's attention. Her sassy grin changes to complete panic and she hastily covers her breasts and dives back under the covers just as Sonehso:wa enters the cabin. It is Connor's turn to laugh as she tears the blankets from his hands and pulls them to her chin.

Sonehso:wa stands at the door and tries to decipher the scene before him. Catherine's face is bright pink and she closes her eyes and pulls the blankets over her head. Ratonhnhake:ton and Anika are both laughing and it appears to be at Catherine's expense.

"What did I miss?" Anika laughs even louder at his confusion and tries to explain.

"Cat took Ratonhnhake:ton's tie and thought he would not get out of bed unclothed in front of me to get it. He was about to but then Cat heard you on the porch and had to hide from you seeing her."

"Why would she hide from me?" He looks genuinely confused and even a little hurt.

"You see her shirt on the floor there!" Sonehso:wa shrugs his shoulders at Anika as she points to the clothing crumpled beside the bed.

"Does she think I will be offended?" Catherine lets out an embarrassed groan from under the covers.

"Can we stop talking about this?" she wails. Connor lifts the blankets off her face and looks at her.

"When we go to the village, you will have to get used to seeing people dressed in very little. No one wears much in warm weather, including the women."

"I was going to ask if you were ever planning on coming home, brother. I do not want to face the Clan Mother alone after how long I have been away. She will be angry with me." Connor turns from Catherine to acknowledge Sonehso:wa's inquiry.

"If Anika is willing, we can leave for the village as soon as we are packed." All of them look at Anika and she smiles and tosses her hair back.

"Let's go, then."

It does not take long to pack up their few things and make the cabin ready for being unoccupied. Having the horses promises to make their trip fairly easy and much shorter than a trek on foot. The horse Connor had been using had been injured on his last mission and he had had to sell it in Albany on his way back to the cabin. It was no longer fit for long journeys or combat so now it belongs to an old farmer who needed a horse to carry his wares between his farm and Albany.

With Connor and Catherine on the chestnut horse and Sonehso:wa and Anika on the grey, they follow the river once they travel up from the level of the cabin. When the land is too rocky or uneven to stay beside the water their path takes them among the trees but always, the river is within sight beside them. The forest is alive with wildlife and they are never lacking fresh food to eat at their campsites. Everyone's spirits are high; Connor and Sonehso:wa converse often about their homecoming and speculate on the tribe's reaction to them bringing two white women to the village. Their presence will be exciting enough but because of their relationships, the usual dynamic of living arrangements will be a challenging puzzle. In preparation for being among the villagers, they start teaching the women simple phrases in Kanien'keha to aid them in their ability to communicate. Though most in the tribe speak English fairly well, it will only help to learn the commonly spoken tongue.

Catherine and Anika also speculate but their conversation is more subdued. When they have time alone while the men walk or hunt, they ride close together and speak candidly of their fears or of their anticipation for a new experience. As each day passes Anika's excitement builds and Catherine's anxiety increases. Catherine finds herself wanting to hold onto the moments they have remaining together as a small traveling party, afraid of what a large community will be like with her as an outsider. The rare minutes she and Connor have alone become a treasure without measurable value. Anika's excitement is infectious at times yet Catherine envies her friend's carefree ability to look positively on an uncertain future.

Conversely, Anika worries about Catherine's increasingly subdued enthusiasm. While she had appeared excited to leave the cabin in the beginning, each passing day reveals a quieter, more introverted version of her dear friend. It is disturbing to watch her worry and Anika's heart breaks as Catherine tries to hide her fears from Connor, putting on a mask of contentment for him. When Anika and Sonehso:wa are riding behind Connor and Catherine one afternoon, she moves her hands from Sonehso:wa's waist and pulls gently on his arms to slow the horse, allowing the pair ahead of them to gain a significant lead.

"What is it, Jitkwa:'e?" Sonehso:wa asks, reaching one hand to hers and twisting to see her.

"It's Cat. She's afraid of what it will be like in your village."

"She does not need to be. Ratonhnhake:ton will help her. He knows."

"So you say, but I worry about her. Before all this happened, she was always the one to take risks and try new things. I'm not used to being the one more excited about a challenge than she. It makes me feel lost, without direction. I wish I could have the old Cat back but I know that can't be, not anymore."

"Why do you say this? She has changed into a happier, more confident woman than she was when I first met her."

"Maybe so, but you didn't know her before. She was always a daredevil and a rebel whenever she could get away with it. She wasn't afraid of anything."

"I see that in her. Just wait. Let her adjust to her new life. I am sure once we arrive she will not be afraid anymore. The women there will love you both. And so will the men. Ratonhnhake:ton and I will have to keep them away from you two!" Anika laughs behind him and squeezes his waist.

"You don't have to worry about anyone stealing me away from you. And I am sure one look from Ratonhnhake:ton will keep Cat safe from other men's interest." Sonehso:wa joins her in laughing at the way Connor's facial expressions and posture convey his protectiveness of Catherine.

"I already know what it feels like to lose a fight with Ratonhnhake:ton. No one would challenge Catherine's choice. It would be very disrespectful of her if they did. No one will challenge your choice, either, Jitkwa:'e, if I am the man you want. I was only making a joke when I spoke of keeping men away from you." He has told her before that the women are the ones to make major decisions on behalf of the entire village and decide which men will become leaders. It still is a foreign concept to her even though she has seen its influence in the way he treats her. Anika rests her head on his back and laces her fingers into Sonehso:wa's.

"You are the man I want. I hope I don't have to fight other women for you!"

"There is only one girl you might have to win over but I know you can do it."

"Maybe the color of my hair will give me an advantage." Anika reaches up with a section of her hair and tickles his neck with it. Sonehso:wa raises his face to the trees above them and laughs heartily.

Four days of travel bring the small group to the outskirts of Kanien'keha:ka territory. They detour to the top of a large hill where they sit on their horses and look down at the river where a ring of tall tree trunks buried in the ground to create an impenetrable barrier surround a cluster of long wooden structures. From such a distance, the village appears small but when they descend towards it, their next glimpse of the wooden wall reveals it to be much higher than it had appeared. A strange, lilting bird sound comes from the trees and both Sonehso:wa and Connor turn their heads toward it, repeating the sound. A lean man jumps down from the branches of the trees and approaches them stealthily. He is bald except for a strip of short dark hair that stands up in a crest over the top of his head from front to back. Four narrow, dark stripes are either painted or tattooed vertically on his face, running down from his crest of hair, passing over his left eye socket and continuing down the side of his face until they end beside his mouth and chin. What makes him even more striking are his ice blue eyes, a shocking and unusual feature in a man with his appearance. His skin is a similar shade to Connor's, giving him the look of mixed heritage. He has a brief conversation with Connor and Sonehso:wa before he acknowledges the women silently with a tilt of his head and leaves them, jogging through the trees and disappearing towards the village.

"Kahionhatenion will tell the Clan Mother of our approach." Connor looks over his shoulder, informing both Catherine and Anika of what they had spoken of.

A group of children are playing near the opening in the wall and one of the eldest girls of about seven or eight catches sight of them as they make their way through the trees. She turns around quickly, her long braids swinging in the air, and shushes the smaller children under her care. She starts to herd them into the village until one of the younger girls breaks away from the group. Sonehso:wa and Connor dismount and Anika and Catherine look at each other once before both sliding off their horses to join them. The girl who had initially tried to ignore them approaches after the small child and scowls at Sonehso:wa. Dressed in a long, beaded and embroidered dress that falls to halfway down her lower legs, pants and woven slippers, she boldly steps close to Sonehso:wa and Connor and squints up at them. Standing only as high as their stomachs, she authoritatively moves them aside with her hands and scrutinizes Anika and Catherine. Her ebony eyes move between them and linger the longest on Anika and her blonde hair. While she is quite obviously sizing them up and trying to decide if they are acceptable to her, the other children have wandered closer, following her example. Sonehso:wa picks up the child who had escaped the older girl. She hugs him around his neck and stares at the two women behind him with her mouth open.

Before long, the four of them are surrounded by almost the entire group of children except for a couple of the smallest ones who toddle, wailing, back into the confines of the village walls when they catch sight of the two strange women in their midst. Anika is nearly buried by the children when she sees their curiosity, kneels down and gestures for them to come closer, inviting them to touch her hair. Catherine is given some attention but though her pale skin, blue eyes and curly hair are different and exciting, they are not as interesting compared to the bright golden color of Anika's hair. The eldest girl stands and watches them, reaching out only once to touch Anika's hair and then Catherine's, as if it goes against her better judgment. She frowns at Sonehso:wa and raises her voice over the cacophony of the children behind her, putting her hands on her hips like a saucy teenager. What she says is spoken with an impish confidence that has him doing his best to look contrite before she stalks off into the village, passing by a jogging Kahionhatenion as he heads back through the woods toward his post.

Catherine, being less inundated by attention, looks up at Connor and Sonehso:wa questioningly where they stand smirking at each other.

"What did she say?" Sonehso:wa laughs and lowers the little girl he was holding to the ground. She promptly joins in the fun of touching Anika.

"That is Katsi'tenhiyo. She is the daughter of my father and his wife. She said I am in big trouble for staying away so long and now I return with you and Anika, who she called 'the woman with corn tassel hair.' She is on her way to tell the Clan Mother, who I am sure you will be meeting very soon. She is an ancient woman but her mind and tongue are very sharp." Sonehso:wa closes his eyes and shakes his head with a smile.

"My little sister enjoys pretending to be much older than me at every opportunity but I know in a short time she will be following me around the way she always does. I only endure it because she is so young." Connor laughs at him.

"Endure it! He cannot say no to her."

"You are no better, brother. You make it worse by spoiling her."

"At least I do not crawl on my belly at her command." From where she sits, Anika laughs at their conversation.

"So this is my competition you warned me about? She's quite formidable. I knew you had something up your sleeve when you wouldn't elaborate." She gently extricates herself from the curious children and stands, only to find her hands being taken by them. With both of Anika's hands claimed the next best choice is Catherine so there is a mad rush and some power jockeying to determine who gets to hold them. Two of the older girls win so Connor and Sonehso:wa lift the remaining children onto the horses. Like a comical children's entourage, with the boys on the horses waving their toy bows and corn stalk clubs, they make their way through the corridor of thick fencing and enter the village compound.

Inside are several long, massive, round roofed structures completely covered in grey, weathered bark and slender strapping in neat rows. An enormous fire pit in the center of the enclosure appears to be a communal gathering place and just beyond the outer limit of the village is the river's edge. A canoe is upside down on the shore and some men are working together, stripping it down to its frame. The place seems strangely devoid of people except for a small collection of elderly, a few women, some of them visibly pregnant or carrying infants, and a few very young children who are gathering together near the lean-to at the end of one of the longhouses. An exceptionally elderly woman emerges and the group accompanies her as she makes her way slowly towards the village entrance holding onto a tall, carved walking stick. Her long white braids hang over her shoulders almost to her waist and she has the wizened appearance of a woman who has lived through a century of experiences both good and bad.

Katsi'tenhiyo walks by her side and she looks triumphantly at her brother, no doubt anticipating a public dressing down or an equally embarrassing experience she can gloat about later. Her smug expression falls when a woman who appears to be in her late forties joins her and places her hand on her shoulder. It is obvious she is Katsi'tenhiyo's mother, for she looks to be an elegant, older version of the child and she smiles with her free hand over her heart at Sonehso:wa and Ratonhnhake:ton with a mother's deep affection.

The two groups close the distance between them quickly and the men take the children down from the horses. At a few words from the old woman, the children disperse without protest, either going to several of the women gathered there or running off to occupy themselves elsewhere, the only signs of reluctance being some backward glances and slow feet. Both Anika and Catherine are surprised when the revered older woman addresses the men in English.

"You have returned."

"Yes, Grandmother. It is good to be home." Connor speaks first, his hands couched one within the other in front of him and his posture indicating great respect. The woman nods and turns her attention to Sonehso:wa. Instantly, everything about him exudes submission to her authority. She taps him in the center of his chest with her walking stick and sighs loudly. His shoulders fall forward and he looks like he wishes he could disappear in a puff of smoke. Katsi'tenhiyo appears exultant, a renewed smile coming over her face and her midnight eyes sparkle with glee.

"I am sorry if I have caused you pain in your spirit, Onkwahsotha, and I beg your forgiveness. I did not think I would be gone so long. My carelessness has disappointed you and dishonored you once again." His voice is soft and he lowers his head as he finishes. The Clan Mother steps closer and touches his arm affectionately.

"My troubled Onondowaga son. I knew one day I would have to release you as I did Ratonhnhake:ton. The Deer and the Wolf are brothers in their need to wander far. Yet here you have returned to me. Do not be grieved any longer." Sonehso:wa breathes easier and his body loses the tense stance it had been holding on to, as if he had just been granted a stay of execution. The old woman's hazy eyes fall on Anika and Catherine where they stand silently holding hands, partially hidden behind the men.

"Tell me, who are these two white women you have brought with you?" Sonehso:wa raises his eyes to her and speaks with confident ease now that his feared repercussions have dissipated with the forgiveness of the powerful woman before him.

"These women are under our protection. My brother saved this woman, Catherine, from death at the hands of evil men and sent me to New York to ensure the safety of this woman, Anika. I had to take her from that place to fulfill my duty." Connor shifts his weight and Sonehso:wa instantly knows he picked up on his slight alteration of how he ended up being the one going to New York. He is sure he will hear about it later from his friend. His concern pales to insignificance when the Clan Mother next speaks.

"It is no longer customary to bring outsiders here after what happened during the war." Afraid of being turned away at the very gates of the village, Anika lowers herself gracefully to her knees and entreats the elderly woman with her hand stretched out in a gesture of supplication. Unsure of what to do, Catherine joins her and stares at the ground, her stomach roiling with fear of rejection. She is sure the word of this powerful leader is unquestioned law.

"If you please, honored Clan Mother, we are humble women in the debt of these men and we intend no disrespect to you or your customs. They saved our lives and in the process have won our hearts. We would stay with them if you will allow it." Catherine gasps at Anika's bold words and squeezes her hand. A long silence stretches and Catherine takes a chance, raising her eyes from the dirt under her knees to dare look at the commanding woman. Her wrinkled face is creased even deeper with a smile that seems carved from the earth itself. Her tiny, hunched body heaves with silent laughter and she reaches her gnarled hand toward them.

"Come, rise, my daughters, you are welcome here. There is no need to kneel like captives." Both Sonehso:wa and Connor have expressions of bewildered shock on their faces and neither of the women are sure whether it is because of their overly submissive behavior or the Clan Mother's laughing reaction to it. She turns to face the rest of the people present and Catherine and Anika get hastily to their feet with the help of Connor and Sonehso:wa.

"We must prepare a meal for the safe return of my sons and for our guests. It appears we have more than a homecoming to celebrate." She looks meaningfully at the men where they stand and then sweeps her gaze over the women with them.

"Bring your things inside and then come speak with me. We have much to discuss." She hobbles slowly away and is quickly replaced by Sonehso:wa's step-mother, with little Katsi'tenhiyo dragging her feet in her wake.

"My son! I have missed you!" She says in Kanien'keha as she embraces Sonehso:wa fondly.

"As I have missed you, mother," he replies, returning her hug with genuine enthusiasm. The woman then faces Catherine and Anika. Addressing them both, she speaks in English.

"Welcome. I am Ori:te'hiyo. Anika, my heart is filled with joy for your presence here. You are beautiful, child, as is your sister." Anika dips her head.

"Thank you, madam. Catherine is not my sister though. We're just very close friends."

"You may be sisters soon…" She says enigmatically as she smiles kindly and extends her warmth to Catherine with her benevolent gaze. At last she turns to Connor and holds out her hands to him.

"Welcome home." He leans down and gives her a hug that leaves her gasping and she lightly smacks his arm before turning her attention to the women once more.

"There is room at our hearth for you both, and you, Ratonhnhake:ton if you wish to join us as is your custom when you are here." Connor nods acknowledgment and they start to walk behind Ori:te'hiyo as she leads them toward one of the massive bark constructions within the village. They are quickly surrounded by the rest of the villagers who had been standing and observing all that had transpired upon their arrival. Anika and Catherine do their best to remember the lessons Connor and Sonehso:wa had primed them with but all too soon they are overwhelmed by the excitement. Some of the older members of the tribe speak among themselves in Kanien'keha and smile knowingly at Connor and Sonehso:wa.

When they finally are allowed to continue on to the appropriate longhouse, Connor and Sonehso:wa both appear deep in thought. Their mood is pervasive and Catherine's heart rate increases as she wonders what is so serious that it has succeeded in controlling even the ever-ebullient Sonehso:wa's high spirits. Connor is understandable, for he often becomes quiet when something is on his mind. Catherine slows her steps and takes Connor's hand, prompting him to slow his pace and look down into her upturned face. Those telltale creases at the corners of his eyes are back and Catherine is nearly struck down by the solemnity she finds in his expression.

"What's wrong?" she whispers. Connor slows his pace even further and squeezes her hand in his.

"Onkwahsotha, our Grandmother, has taken Anika's words to heart. If what she said is truly as you feel, then she will have a wedding arranged for both us and Sonehso:wa and Anika soon."

"A wedding! Is that the only way we can stay here?"

"Of course not. I wondered if something like this would happen but I did not think it would present itself so soon. I do not want you to feel forced. If it is not what you want, you must speak up about it. There is time. The Clan Mothers will want to arrange an adoption ceremony for you both first." Catherine stops and Connor takes one step before he realizes she has become rooted in place. She is staring at the ground and breathing heavily.

"Is that what you want? Marriage?" He is silent as the rest of the group reaches the longhouse and starts to go inside.

"You know it is. But if you are not ready, I will wait without complaint." Catherine shifts her feet and attempts to settle the uncertainties that perpetually harass her.

"I'm so afraid… Adoption? What does that mean? Will we be separated?" Connor hesitates before answering.

"Yes. You and Anika may be kept together but we will be separated. Members of the same clan cannot marry. You cannot be adopted by the Wolf clan and marry me, for I am of the Wolf, so we would be viewed as brother and sister. For Anika it is different. Sonehso:wa is of the Deer clan of the Onondowaga. He was not adopted by the Wolf clan when he came to live with his father. There is no Deer counterpart with the Kanien'keha:ka. Anika can be adopted by any of the three clans." Catherine shakes her head.

"Do we not have any say in the matter?"

"You do. No one will force you to marry me or to be adopted. If we do marry but you are not adopted, our children will be of no clan, either. But that is not ideal in the eyes of the Haudenosaunee." Catherine's eyes are wide and Connor has not seen such worry in them for quite some time.

"Come inside. We will talk more of this with the Clan Mother. Do not fear her. You have already found favor in her eyes. I have not seen her laugh like that for many years." Catherine falls into step with Connor and he brings his arm around her waist reassuringly. He leaves their horse with the grey one outside the longhouse and unties their items he had taken from the cabin, including a large roll of his collected furs and hides.

Inside the longhouse is extraordinarily dark compared to the bright sunlight outside. A wide, open corridor runs down the center from the entrance they came through all the way to a second one on the other end, with enough room for racks of drying clothes and supplies to be spaced out here and there without movement being restricted. The only light comes from several fire rings that are spaced at intervals down the central aisle and through corresponding holes in the ceiling where the smoke from the fires escapes. It is surprisingly warm in the structure despite its size. Along the sides of the corridor are two levels of deep, bench-like structures. The lower one, which is about knee height off the ground, is clearly used for sitting and sleeping, while the upper level that is situated a little higher than Connor's head is for storage. Vertical partitions are spaced along the length of the longhouse on each side, providing privacy for family groups and as a place for various weavings, hanging herbs and pieces of art to be displayed. Everything seems to have been designed for multiple purposes and while each section is a little different with decoration or functionality, depending on how the occupants have chosen to utilize their areas, it appears to be a very efficient use of space.

About half way down the longhouse, Connor stops in front of one of the partitioned off spaces, which happens to be split by one of the communal campfires. Ori:te'hiyo is rearranging some furs on one of the deep shelves that appears to not be in use, while Sonehso:wa reaches up to place baskets and his and Anika's travelling bags on the upper shelf. Katsi'tenhiyo sits on the bed across the corridor from them with her hands on her knees and her feet swinging restlessly, watching them with a petulant frown on her face. Anika crosses the aisle and sits down beside her.

"My name is Anika. I know yours is Katsi'tenhiyo. Can we be friends? I am going to need a lot of help learning about your village and I bet you can teach me a lot." Katsi'tenhiyo is quiet and she stops swinging her feet. She looks at Anika and then across to her half brother where he stands watching her with a repressed smile on his face.

"Sonehso:wa can teach you." Katsi'tenhiyo jumps off the bench and runs out of the longhouse. Anika looks at Sonehso:wa and turns her palms up in a sign of helplessness.

"Do not worry. She will come around. I can understand her jealousy. I felt the same when my father married Ori:te'hiyo." He smiles at his stepmother and she lays a hand on his arm. She laughs freely.

"It only took him ten summers to love me."

"Ista! That is not true. I just had a hard time showing it." She smiles and pats his arm.

"I know, my son. I know. Katsi'tenhiyo is a stubborn child. She takes after her father, as do you. Just give her some time." She looks across at Anika.

"Do not put excessive effort into winning her love. You have good intentions, I can see that, but it will only make her fight. Once she learns that her stomping and frowning have no effect she will give it up." She nods her head as she finishes speaking and Anika smiles sheepishly at her hands. Ori:te'hiyo smiles when Connor presents the roll of furs to her.

"You will make the other mothers jealous with how often you give me these."

"They are for all, but you are who I owe the greatest honor to for letting me stay with your family while I am here." She smiles again and lays them where her daughter had been sitting so she can sort and distribute them later. Once Connor has deposited his and Catherine's things on the shelf, she addresses them further.

"The Clan Mothers will be waiting for you. Come." She leads them out the other side of the longhouse and back across the common area towards another of the enormous structures. A capable and serious looking man stands just inside and stops Ori:te'hiyo with a few respectfully spoken words and an outstretched hand. She steps aside and gestures for the two couples to proceed without her. Connor responds to the question in Catherine's eyes.

"The Clan Mothers want privacy with us."

Inside, the semidarkness of the longhouse is completely empty of people except for three women sitting around a merrily crackling fire. One of them is the ancient woman who had spoken with them earlier. The other two are not quite as old but they are no less wise or imposing for their relative youth. Connor and Sonehso:wa take the lead and sit by the fire so that Catherine and Anika can be beside each other between them. The two women hold hands and briefly exchange a glance with some trepidation. They both have a feeling some major decisions will be made in this meeting. The three older women are dressed in warm clothing with artful depictions of animals picked out in shining beads and intricate embroidery. Each of them wears a wrap that is so detailed and extravagantly beautiful that they must be for ceremonial purposes only.

When everyone is settled, the oldest woman begins to speak. She addresses the other older women first, speaking for some time in Kanien'keha before she faces the rest of the group present. She continues to speak in her native tongue to Connor and Sonehso:wa and then stops, raising her hand and indicating that one of them should translate. Sonehso:wa nods in deference to Connor and he takes a breath.

"The Clan Mothers would like to welcome you to Kanatahseton, our village home." Gesturing to each of the women in turn, he identifies them.

"Our grandmother, Clan Mother to the Turtle; our grandmother, Clan Mother to the Wolf; our grandmother, Clan Mother to the Bear. They would like to know your story and how you came to be in need of our help. They also want to know your feelings…why you… find us acceptable as marriage mates." He is obviously uncomfortable at having to express that to them. Connor touches Catherine's hand where it rests on her knee.

"We should probably start with your story, WildCat. It is why you are both here now." Catherine looks down at the flames of the fire and tries to slow her breathing. A ringing is in her ears and her heart is pounding. Only Anika and Connor are aware of any details of what happened to her. Sonehso:wa knows even less and none of them know it all, yet she has a feeling these women will know if she holds anything back. What if they find her unacceptable, a disgusting thing who could pollute their people by even her presence? She knows her indecision is dragging out the silence and she fears that she is creating a disrespectful scene. Her bottom lip trembles before she can bite down on it and Connor covers her hand with his reassuringly. The ancient Wolf Clan Mother looks at her and moves her hand slowly across the space in front of her knees in a kindly and generous gesture, as if to say she is free to open her heart to them and they will listen to her words. Catherine firms up her resolve and decides that if she is going to be accepted, it will have to be with full disclosure and under no pretenses. She lifts her chin and begins.

"I willingly married a man who I knew didn't love me only four months ago…" Catherine speaks in a measured tone, pausing so Connor can recite her story in Kanien'keha for the Clan Mothers. As she recounts the painful details of her kidnapping and abuse, Anika weeps quietly by her side, unable to withhold her sadness for her mistreatment. Catherine doesn't dare look at her friend because she knows she will lose control of her emotions if she does. Instead, she squeezes her hand tightly and continues to speak, watching out of the corners of her eyes as Sonehso:wa reaches out his hand to comfort her. She bravely holds back nothing, knowing that she would regret keeping silent about how bad it really was after resolving to be completely honest. Connor grows visibly troubled as he translates Catherine's story, not having known in such detail the level of her abuse. At one point his voice shakes with barely contained fury and the muscles in his jaw are clenched as she continues. His face is transformed by his anger and Catherine wonders if Sonehso:wa will have to take over as her mouthpiece when he raises his clenched right fist and lowers his forehead against it with a rictus of horrified revulsion on his face. He carries on, however, and they are able to move past her experiences in captivity without stopping. Strangely, the act of pouring out her story leaves her feeling as if she has been freed just a little more from her past. The Clan Mothers show no outward sign of disgust or judgment. There is only kindness and empathy in their expressions and Catherine takes heart. She no longer wants to hide or drown in her shame.

Moving on, she relates how Connor had meted out his own form of justice, killing her captors and extending himself to take her in and treat her many wounds. The three Clan Mothers nod with approval at this. Catherine only hesitates when she reaches the point where she had realized her pregnancy and had struggled with Connor in an attempt to kill herself. After everything she had spoken of enduring and all that Connor had done for her, such an act appears shamefully selfish and the result of an unsound mind. But she soldiets on, too deep to stop now and her own tears beginning to fall not for self pity, but for how close she had come to hurting Connor. She speaks fondly of how he had supported and comforted her through her weeks of sadness and sickness, making sure she got outside and was active, encouraging her to practice what he would teach her and always finding ways to show affection. She smiles at him when she relates her eventual acceptance of him as the father of her illegitimate child but becomes serious again at the eventual loss of it only a short time later when Sonehso:wa had returned with Anika.

The three Clan Mothers appear strongly moved when Catherine tells them of what Sonehso:wa, Connor and Anika had done on behalf of the life she had been unable to sustain within her body. She expresses her appreciation for the powerfully cathartic effect speaking the words had had on her ability to recover from it. At that point, Catherine stops, an overwhelming feeling of exhaustion coming over her. She slumps forward, drained from the effort of pouring out her soul to these women. Connor lays a hand on her back and she leans into him, finding strength in his solid form and his arms around her. She heaves a tremulous sigh and squeezes Anika's hand, receiving a firm squeeze back, each of them silently expressing solidarity with the simple gesture. They are allowed a respite from the story telling and at a command from the Wolf Clan Mother, the man who had barred Sonehso:wa's step-mother enters. She issues a request and the man is quick to retrieve an earthen container and some wooden bowls. He distributes the bowls around and pours water from the container into them. At a gesture from the Bear Clan Mother he quietly returns to his post and the oldest Clan Mother speaks.

"Drink. Find refreshment from the telling of your story." After some time is spent in relative silence, the Turtle Clan Mother nods to Anika and Sonehso:wa, indicating that it is their turn to speak. Catherine smiles at Anika and she leans close to kiss her cheek before turning toward the fire and the waiting Clan Mothers.

Anika relates the horror of the night Catherine had not returned to the estate in New York. The following day an enormous search party had been organized, consisting of almost all of the men under Sergio's employ. They had marched through the city and ridden out into the frontier surrounding it, returning with Catherine's horse and a report of evidence of a possible scuffle where the horse was found near the river that divides the city. Only a day later, a newspaper article surfaced highlighting the horrible tragedy of the Lady Catherine Martinez, possibly having been attacked by bandits, lost to the waters of the river and her body washed out to sea. Francisco and Sergio had hosted a funeral of storied proportions and shortly thereafter had dismissed Anika from their employ while she still wore the black of mourning. She brushes over her employment as a laundress and moves on to her arranged meeting with Sonehso:wa, his discovery of her pursuers and the decision to take her away to rejoin with Catherine.

Anika confesses her fear of Sonehso:wa at first, their growing affinity and her sudden relapse at his violence in her defense when she had been attacked outside of Albany. When she had come to understand him better, her affection for him had become her entire world, second only to seeing Catherine alive and well with her own eyes. Her feelings overwhelmed her at first but became more a part of her every day. Their near discovery in Albany and Sonehso:wa's injury had reinforced their need to continue on in reaching safety. Anika relates her side of Catherine's miscarriage, expressing an appreciation for the value Sonehso:wa had attributed to the loss of a human life in such a way, viewing it not as a bunch of bloody rags but as the remnant of a spirit that needed to be respected. She speaks of her initial concern that Catherine would succumb to her blood loss in the first hours after her miscarriage and of Connor's devotion to her. It helped her to see how much he loved her and also revealed her own strong need to nurture what she and Sonehso:wa had. Her affection for Catherine had made her realize that she needed to step aside and let Connor's love take precedence, for the fidelity of a friend and sister, though powerful in its own right, is vastly different than that of a lover.

Though the telling of her misadventures takes considerably less time and are far less traumatic, the wise women consider her words with the same amount of gravity as they did Catherine's. After she is done speaking and Sonehso:wa has completed his role as translator, an almost echoing silence fills the longhouse. Except for the crackling of the fire and the occasional noise of a wooden bowl grating against the hard packed ground when it is either lifted or placed down, there are few extraneous noises. Some muffled sounds of conversation drift through the walls of the longhouse but they seem far away, increasing the impression that the fire they sit around is an island far from the rest of the world. Despite the quiet, there is no awkwardness, only a sense of waiting and expectation. The three women across from the two couples spend time looking at each other. The Turtle Clan Mother lowers her eyes and shakes her head with a gracious gesture toward the other two women. The Wolf Clan Mother looks to her Bear companion. Connor quietly takes up the translation of their words.

"Speak, sister, and make your decision."

"The dark haired one, Catherine, is the embodiment of a Bear woman. She has shown great courage and strength in the face of her trials. I would be honored to have her as my daughter." The oldest woman nods in respectful acknowledgment of her choice and raises her voice.

"And I find Anika, with her yellow hair of the corn spirit, to be a Wolf for her loyal heart." Catherine and Anika exchange a worried glance. Upon observing it, the Wolf Clan Mother speaks up.

"I see the idea of being apart is of great concern to you both. Your sisterly love is strong. If my Bear sister is willing, I will relinquish my claim to Anika and allow her to join with the clan of the Bear so you can remain together as true sisters." Catherine and Anika turn their eyes to the youngest Clan Mother and await her response. She moves her eyes to Anika and nods her head in acknowledgement.

"Her qualities reflect that of the Bear as well, especially her attention to the health of her sister. I will gladly gain two new daughters this day." The Wolf Clan Mother turns to the two women and makes eye contact with each of them.

"Do you wish to join with the Bear Clan? They are the healers of the Haudenosaunee, courageous, defensive of their family and unafraid to show their strength. As part of the clan of the Bear, you are free to choose a man of the Turtle or Wolf clan." She moves her eyes to Sonehso:wa.

"Or of the Deer clan of the Onondowaga." Sonehso:wa lowers his head in respectful acknowledgement of the Wolf Clan Mother's allowance for his sake. Catherine looks at the women before her and her fear of being apart from Connor somehow seems less frightening now that she has been in the presence of these powerful women and found acceptance from them. They had made sure that nothing could prevent either woman from marrying the one she loves and had respected their need to remain together. Looking at Connor, she entreats him silently and he whispers to her.

"This is not my choice, WildCat. I have no say over your decision. We will not be far from each other and we will never be prevented from being together." Turning to Anika, Catherine watches as Sonehso:wa quietly seems to be telling her the same thing. Their eyes meet and Catherine instantly sees a longing in Anika's for a future with Sonehso:wa. How could she withhold that from her? If she hesitates to make this change, how much will it affect Anika's decision? She is awed by her confidence in taking such a huge step into the unknown and wishes she could find it in herself to have more faith that a major decision like this will not end up having a detrimental effect on her life. This is the first decision that is truly hers alone. Will she err on the side of caution and risk making Anika's decision more difficult? What prevents her from marrying Connor either now or in the future? She has been declared legally dead and her previous marriage is over. There is nothing holding her back except the lingering fear that she can never completely shake. It only proves that Francisco still has his claws in her. The realization galvanizes her and she squeezes Anika's hand tightly and sets her jaw. Anika's face transitions to such overwhelming happiness that Catherine can't help but smile in return.

"We will truly be sisters, Cat!" The women put their arms around each other and together they face the three Clan Mothers. The Bear Clan Mother gets to her feet and motions to the two young women to join her. When they approach, she holds out her hands to them and each of them takes one. She nods to Connor for him to continue translating.

"We have not adopted an outsider for a long time. Other tribe members taken for the loss of our own in warfare is more common. Our wolf sister informed us of your words to her and… unusual willingness to lower yourselves to a slave's status to stay with these men. That kind of devotion is admirable and your qualities are desirable. We have known these sons for many years and they would not have brought you here if they did not return your affection." She moves her eyes toward Connor.

"Ratonhnhake:ton. He has labored hard to protect us and we wondered if he would ever allow a woman to claim him." Connor hesitates to repeat the final sentence but the Clan Mother is anticipating it and gives him a stern look. Catherine finds his embarrassment endearing and almost lets out a small laugh when she catches sight of Sonehso:wa's unusually serious face. She knows him well enough to realize when he is trying hard not to break propriety at the expense of his friend. Evidently, the Bear Clan Mother notices it as well.

"Sonehso:wa, too, has been a source of concern. His heart was cold and bitter and Ori:te'hiyo shed many tears over him until his Deer spirit woke him up and reminded him to be fair and faithful." Sonehso:wa is horrified and humbled by her words and resolves to speak with his step-mother privately to assure her of his love.

Having gotten her points of counsel adequately distributed, the Bear Clan Mother addresses them with one final declaration.

"Tomorrow we will hold the ceremony. We must speak with the chiefs and make preparations. Until then, be welcome in the Bear Clan longhouse as our guests." When she is finished speaking, she nods to all present and makes her way toward the entrance. Just like that, the formality is broken and there is a shuffling as the other two Clan Mothers get creakily to their feet, turning down the help of the men with dismissive waves of their wrinkled hands. The young women fondly embrace and Anika whispers to Catherine.

"I know you did this for me, Cat, and it wasn't easy. Thank you. I love you so much!"

"I love you too, Ani. It would have been selfish of me force you to do this alone just because of a few bad experiences." Anika steps back and grasps Catherine's arms tightly in her hands. She shakes her head, dumbfounded.

"A few bad experiences? What happened to you was torture! No one can blame you for being cautious." Anika looks at Catherine and rubs her hands over her arms and sighs.

"You are a Bear! You're the strongest, most courageous woman I know and I can only dream of being like you." She looks up at Connor where he stands watching them a few steps away near where Sonehso:wa is speaking with the Wolf Mother, unwilling to interrupt their intimate conversation.

"Ratonhnhake:ton is good for you. Even if you don't marry soon, at least consider it. There isn't another man like him in the world. Well, except Sonehso:wa, but he's mine." She laughs softly and seems embarrassed at her possessive statement.

"Are you and Sonehso:wa planning on marrying?"

"Why not? He has told me he wants to if I wish it. I know we would be happy. If he hadn't taken me away, I would probably be an unwed spinster servant for the rest of my life. Or married to some fat, old, poxy man who drinks too much and spanks the maids." Catherine laughs loudly before clapping her hand over her mouth.

"Anika! That's horrible!"

"It's the truth. Once you were gone, all prospects for me went right out the window." Catherine hugs her soon-to-be sister tightly and they stand holding hands to wait for Connor and Sonehso:wa. The two remaining Clan Mothers dismiss the men and they join the women to leave the longhouse.

It is already late afternoon when they emerge, with shadows reaching their long arms all across the enclosure, and the village is awash with many more people than had been present when they first arrived. Everyone seems to have a reason to be near the longhouse and a collective noise comes from those assembled when they come into sight. Following quickly on its heels is a rush of voices and shouting of names.

"Sonehso:wa is back!"

"Ratonhnhake:ton!"

"They come with white women."

"Who are they?"

Only Connor and Sonehso:wa understand the speculative comments and questions posed by the people, knowing their queries are based on curiosity, not animosity. The crowd hushes somewhat when the Wolf and Turtle Clan Mothers exit the longhouse behind them. The Turtle Clan Mother raises her voice and addresses everyone.

"These women are guests of the Bear Clan. Tonight we will join together and eat as one in their honor and for the safe return of our sons." A hearty cheer goes up at the announcement. Everyone loves an excuse to celebrate and the crowd quickly disperses to lend their many hands in preparing for the evening's festivities.

Anika observes the village, now full of men and women of all ages moving about their tasks.

"Where were they all?" Sonehso:wa answers her.

"It is spring. The men are clearing new fields, stripping bark, making repairs on the longhouses and canoes, hunting and fishing. The women are planting the crops, gathering the first products of spring and working indoors on clothing and hides. Everyone works together for the village. When children are old enough, they join the adults to learn." As they cross to Sonehso:wa's family's longhouse, the women are intrigued by how happily everyone seems to be participating in their roles. Almost every person they pass welcomes them in a friendly way and the women are rewarded with enormous smiles and excited responses when they practice their Kanien'keha greetings. Both Connor and Sonehso:wa enjoy seeing their efforts be rewarded and they gamely respond to the suggestive and teasing comments they get from some of their closer acquaintances.

Anika's and Cat's few belongings are quickly transferred to another longhouse and Catherine feels a pang of nervousness at knowing she will not be sleeping next to Connor this night or for any foreseeable night. Some of her anxiety settles when she reminds herself that Anika will be with her and they will make their way together, as they always do. The men attempt to linger as long as possible until the Bear Clan Mother approaches the unoccupied section near one end of the longhouse that had been offered to Catherine and Anika. Two teenaged girls are following her. They keep their heads together and appear to be giggling. The Clan Mother smiles indulgently at the men and then waves her hands in a shoo-ing motion at them. They defer to her authority and promise the women they will see them later at the celebration.

Once the men are out of the longhouse, the Clan Mother waves the two girls over. They rush over to Anika and Catherine with beaming faces and smiles that are incredibly infectious. The girls seem ready to burst at the seams with excitement and they can hardly stand still while the Clan Mother makes introductions.

"Welcome to your new home, Anika… Catherine." She smiles at them both in turn as she greets them.

"This section will be yours, both now and when the time comes for a husband to join with you. These two girls will be your companions and teachers until you are comfortable with our ways and customs. They will be your younger sisters when you have been formally adopted. I will let you all make your own introductions, for if I hold them back any longer they just might fall down…" She cackles out a good-natured laugh, which takes Catherine and Anika by surprise. Everything had seemed so formal coming from her, yet she affectionately swats at the girls as they hurtle past her and start talking at the same moment.

The two teenagers appear to be of the same age but look as different as night and day. One is tall and gangly, her face angular with high cheekbones, a wide jaw and a strong nose. Her almond shaped eyes tilt slightly upwards at the sides and her eyebrows arch high, making her look as if she is slightly surprised. She is all arms and legs, yet possesses swanlike characteristics that are beginning to mature into the statuesque grace so many women often wish for.

The other young woman is petite, her features almost birdlike in delicacy. She has a narrow, heart shaped face with a pointed chin, small nose and large, wide-set eyes. Though her face and form are of a sixteen or seventeen year old young woman, her size is of a girl barely entering puberty and she reaches only to the shoulders of her lanky friend. Both of them wear their hair in two long braids that hang down over the front of their shoulders like many of the women in the village and they have chosen similar decorations for them, consisting of large wooden beads that had been charred and carved to create a light and dark contrasting pattern.

The two girls are so ebullient that Catherine and Anika have to ask them to speak one at a time. At the same instant, they both try to speak again and fall into convulsive laughter that brings smiles to the women's faces. They recall the time in their lives when they used to be just as silly and carefree. At last the smaller girl regains her speaking ability.

"I am called Raonraon. This is Tsihskoko." Raonraon lays a hand on her still shaking friend's arm and she stifles the remainder of her laughing. Raonraon steps closer to Anika and her dark eyes open wide.

"Are you going to marry Sonehso:wa?" Her voice is conspiratorial and Anika laughs at her eager interest.

"Probably." The two girls look at each other and sigh dramatically.

"He is so handsome!" Raonraon cries.

"I wish a hunter like him would notice when I pass by…" Tsihskoko laments, placing her hand over her heart.

"Maybe if you had hair like Anika..." Raonraon looks at Catherine.

"What about you, Catherine? Will you marry Ratonhnhake:ton?" Despite not wanting to answer the question, Catherine is still swept up in the fun.

"Maybe some day."

"Better hurry. We know some women who have been chasing him for years! He never notices though… He is strange like that." Raonraon taps her finger on the side of her head, making Catherine laugh. She has seen how single minded he can be and it doesn't surprise her that if he had not found interest in a woman it simply would pass from his mind, making him oblivious.

"Well, Raonraon. He did say he would wait until I'm ready." Raonraon and Tsihskoko look at each other and gasp in romanticized wonder.

"Ohhh!" Tsihskoko wails. She stumbles over to the unoccupied half of their section and flops dramatically onto her back on the empty bed.

"My sister has liked him for all her life but she will never admit it. She twisted her leg when she was helping her mother in the field just as he was returning one day during the war. He carried her to the healer and ever since… you see?" She gestures with both hands to her friend lying on the bed with her arms over her face. Catherine can easily picture an enamored younger version of Tsihskoko staring up happily at Connor as he carries her. If he only knew he had such an ardent young admirer. It would probably make him exceedingly uncomfortable.

At the girls' insistence, Catherine and Anika allow them to style their hair into braids. They both feel they will look like children with their hair styled in such a way but the other adult women in the village wear braids with dignity so why shouldn't they? The girls start with Anika's hair and Catherine suspects their request was a clever ruse just to touch her friend's blonde hair without being rude. Anika's straight hair conforms to the will of their fingers, quickly becoming smooth, tight braids that neatly hang over her shoulders. Catherine's hair is not so compliant. Her curls escape and refuse to lie flat, much to the bewildered frustration of the girls and Anika's entertainment where she sits holding the ends of her braids so they will not unravel. Catherine patiently suggests that they wet her hair so that the curls will not be so stubborn. Tsihskoko runs to get water and Raonraon retrieves some items from her family's living area towards the middle of the longhouse. Catherine's wet hair cooperates with the girls and they are satisfied with the resulting braids. They then proceed to wind colored ties around the loose ends and decorate them with clusters of small river shells that dangle from the ties and clack together whenever they move.

Raonraon holds up two necklaces for Tsihskoko's inspection and she shakes her head.

"Wait until the ceremony." Raonraon nods in agreement and sets them aside. The girls stand up, ready to accompany their new friends to eat. Each girl links an arm through one of Catherine's and Anika's and they lead the women from the longhouse into the gathering dusk.

The large communal firepit is ablaze with an enormous fire and people are collecting together in clusters, chatting and bearing bowls of food. Laughter and conversation is all around and though at times the two women know they are being watched surreptitiously by the villagers, it is never outright or overt enough to make them uncomfortable. Always, they are greeted kindly by those they pass close to. The girls are careful not to mention the upcoming adoption, choosing to introduce them as special guests in their longhouse. They give off a strong air of pride about the honor, their easy laughter and conviviality keeping Catherine and Anika relaxed among so many strangers. When Connor and Sonehso:wa show up it is somewhat of a surprise, for the women had been distracted enough by the girls' efforts to not be constantly searching the crowd for them.

Sonehso:wa is the first to comment on their new hairstyles, doing so with a hearty laugh at the sight of them and a quick kiss to Anika's lips, which are pinched into a narrow frown at his obvious amusement. The girls titter merrily with their hands over their mouths. Connor lifts one of Catherine's braids and slides his hand down to the bottom.

"I like this. You look good with braids." Catherine snatches the end of the braid from his fingers with a rattle of shells and looks at her feet, embarrassed, sending the girls into further giggles.

"I see you have already started to blend in, no doubt with the help of these two." Connor nods at the two girls, acknowledging their handiwork. The two of them positively preen under his approval, making Catherine and Anika unable to hold onto their discomfiture regarding their new hairstyles.

No additional mention is made of the reason for the night's celebratory events. Catherine is relieved to avoid further attention being drawn to them and they are free to wander or sit and eat where they please, meeting people as they pass by. Raonraon and Tsihskoko quietly move away to let Sonehso:wa and Connor be with the women but they are never very far and keep a close watch on their charges in case they are needed.

After the majority in attendance finish eating the various types of corn dishes, freshly fire roasted fish and game, drums and flutes are produced and many join in dancing to the rhythmic music and singing. The atmosphere is one of fun and family, a relaxed community event that serves to bring everyone together. People are scattered about socializing, watching the dancing and music, many smoking tobacco and a group of children are gathered around an animated storyteller who jumps around as he speaks, making the youngest ones scream and laugh.

Eventually, the crowd thins out as families start to meander back to their longhouses to prepare for bed. Raonraon and Tsihskoko are nowhere to be seen so the two couples take the opportunity to walk the long way around the village along the river on their way to the Bear longhouse. They keep their goodnights short and their kisses even shorter, knowing the longer they linger the more difficult it will be to separate.

"Here you are!" Tsihskoko exclaims when Anika and Catherine walk inside the longhouse. Raonraon straightens from spreading out some furs on one of the sleeping areas.

"Ori:te'hiyo gave us some new furs for your beds. I think she is sad that you are not at her hearth."

"We'll be sure to thank her for her generosity." Anika says, recognizing the furs as the ones Connor had brought from the cabin.

"And thank you, both of you, for doing this. And this." Catherine gestures to the beds and then raises up both of her braids with a smile.

"If you need anything during the night I am there and she is there." Raonraon points towards the center of the longhouse and then to the far end. Catherine starts to take out the shells from her hair to return them to the girls.

"Those are for you. A gift for my sisters." Raonraon insists, shaking her head and putting her hands behind her back. Tsihskoko smiles and hugs both of them shyly, followed quickly by Raonraon.

"Tomorrow we will show you everything!" The two girls scamper off to their families and Catherine and Anika sit on the two beds made up on opposite sides of the aisle. They stare at each other in the semidarkness as the fires are allowed to die down, listening to the many sounds of the night: families settling in, a quiet hum of subdued conversation and whispers, the rustle of clothing and furs, a baby crying in the distance, a laugh quickly hushed, the subtle yet distinct sounds of coupling and the river rushing by outside. Catherine picks up her furs and crosses to Anika, who silently moves over to make room for her. They lie facing each other and don't need to speak to know they are sharing the same strange mix of emotions. They will be starting yet another chapter in their lives and neither of them knows what to expect from it. Thoroughly exhausted from the day's events and emotional ups and downs, it isn't long before they fall asleep, taking comfort in each other's presence.

**Character Guide and Disclaimer**

I don't claim to have any in-depth knowledge of the culture and practices of the Kanien'keha:ka or any other Haudenosaunee tribes. The hours of research I have done and the native people I have been in indirect contact with have yielded some very basic information, yet in order to bring my story alive I have attempted to fill in the very large remaining gaps with my imagination. I've done my best to be as respectful as possible in these endeavors. If I have offended anyone please do not take it personally, for I mean absolutely no disrespect to my native readers or the Haudenosaunee as a whole. If there is something that you know is wrong do not hesitate to PM me and let me know.

**Kahionhatenion**- brother to **Teiowi:sonte** from The Tyranny of King Washington who, according to the Assassin's Creed Wiki, are actual members of Connor's tribe. I take this to mean they are not hybridized, fictional people formed from both Washington's and Connor's minds via the vision created by the Apple.

**Katsi'tenhiyo**- (pronounced similar to gah-jee-dun-ee-yoh or gah-see-dun-ee-yoh*) means "good/ nice/ beautiful flower," 8 years old, daughter of Sonehso:wa's father and second wife **Ori:te'hiyo,** Sonehso:wa's half sister

**Oia:ner**- means "clan mother"

**Onkwahsotha** (pronounced oon-gwah-soh-tah), means "our grandmother," a respectful title for a Clan Mother

**Ori:te'hiyo**- (pronounced oh-lee-tay-ee-yoh or oh-ree-tay-ee-yoh*) means "good/ nice/ beautiful dove" -my attempt at adding a common suffix to the word Ori:te' which means "dove" in Kanien'keha. Sonehso:wa's step-mother

**Raonraon** (pronounced similar to lah-oon-lah-oon or rah-ooh-rah-oon*) means "hummingbird," 16 years old

**Tsihskoko** (pronounced similar to jee-skoh-koh or see-skoh-koh*), means "robin," 17 years old

*According to Native-Languages dot org the "R" sound can be either pronounced as "R" or "L" depending on the dialect, so some of Connor's contemporaries may have pronounced his name as Lah-don-ha-gay-don. "Ts" can be pronounced similarly to how it is in "tsunami," like the "j" in "jar" in Kanien'keha or slightly differently in a different dialect.


	17. Chapter 17

Release

**Author's note: Portions of this chapter have been removed to comply with the site's policy on explicit content. See my profile for the location of the unedited version.**

Tsihskoko and Raonraon hold true to their promise, waking Catherine and Anika early the next morning with their whispered giggles and shy hands touching their arms. After a light breakfast of crushed corn porridge they take them on a tour of the village and its surrounding fields and orchards. The girls are aflutter with excitement and boundless energy as they parade the two women around, introducing them to whomever they come in contact with. When the Bear Clan Mother had assigned them to Catherine and Anika, she had also given them permission to skip their duties in the fields in exchange for teaching the women. Tsihskoko and Raonraon are excited both to educate the two women and to be free of less enjoyable tasks for as long as they are allowed to continue, becoming exceptionally self satisfied whenever they introduce the women to their envious friends. Though they try their best, Anika and Catherine know it will take them a long time to sort out and remember the many complicated names of everyone they are meeting in the village.

The fields surrounding the village spread off to the north and west, many of them on the south and east facing sides of the rolling landscape, where the sun shines the brightest and longest over the course of the day. Women are scattered throughout some of the fields, planting seeds in mounds of dirt. Children as young as ten or eleven are with them, holding bags of seeds or helping poke holes in the dirt with their fingers. While there is much to do, no one is hurrying or looking overburdened. Many hands are there to work and it seems that the task is being accomplished at a comfortable pace. Raonraon demonstrates how the seeds are planted, indicating the center of the mound as the place for planting corn, the very next ring for beans so the vines can climb the cornstalks and the outer area for squash, allowing its sprawling habit to surround the mound for easy access to all the produce.

In the distance, the sound of many axes chopping carries to the four women as they walk. The two younger girls lead them closer and the sound increases in volume as they draw near. It looks like almost all the men of the village are in this section of the forest and a large area is already clear of standing trees. All that is left are stumps and felled trees stripped of their bark. Smaller branches are scattered among the trunks and stacks of long, straight young trees are being collected together. They stand near a stack of slender trees, a few wooden bowls and several jugs of water.

"Here they are making a new field for planting next year. The trees will be cut up and brought to the village for firewood. Once that is done they will burn the area to clear it. All the trees there will be used to build longhouses or other things." Raonraon indicates one of the stacks of slender trees as she narrates the scene for the women.

"The new bark is good for many things..." She trails off as a tall, broad shouldered man who appears to be in his mid-fifties approaches them. He has long hair with a good amount of steel-grey mingled in it that hangs down his back and he has cast off his shirt like many of the other men to work at cutting down the trees. He carries his axe loosely by his side. There is something familiar about him and the moment he speaks, the women know.

"Have you come to watch us all working hard?" The smile that crosses his face and touches his eyes, making them sparkle and accentuating the lines that crease his features, is the very same as Sonehso:wa's. Even his voice is similar. Tsihskoko stands jauntily and holds one hand out palm up, gesturing to the sweating man standing before them.

"If you call this working hard, then yes." The man throws his head back in laughter and there can be no question about who he is. He looks at the two older women and speaks to them with humor in his voice.

"You be careful of these two. Always causing trouble and distracting the young men from their work." He smiles with fatherly affection at the girls and they roll their eyes at him. Turning from them, he addresses the women.

"Welcome to our village. I did not get to greet you before because I had duties to attend to. I am Gaiachoton. You must be the beautiful Jitkwa:'e my son could not stop speaking of and her equally beautiful wildcat sister. Ratonhnhake:ton does not speak much but Ori:te'hiyo says she has never seen such a lost wolf pup until last night. Now I see why." Catherine blushes at his compliment and Anika lowers her head, suddenly bashful at his use of her nickname. Hearing it come from the lips of her lover's father is strange, yet she is set at ease by the familiarity of it as well. Raonraon hands him a wooden bowl full of water and he takes it gratefully and drinks. Some of the other young men notice that water is being distributed by the two young women and stop their work to saunter over. Gaiachoton notices the effect they are having on them and nods his head toward the incoming attention.

"You see? Do what you will, but go from here soon or no work will be done this day." He gives them all one more good natured smile before returning the bowl with their traditional word of thanks and heading back to work. He bellows at the men with a wide, circular swing of his arm and they increase the pace of their swaggers to a fast jog to get water. Catherine picks up one of the jugs and Anika takes another bowl so that two men can be given water at a time. Gaiachoton stands a short distance away and watches the scene with his arms crossed and a half smile on his face. Most of the older men return to work once they have a drink and share some friendly words with the women, but a few of the younger ones try to linger too long at socializing. For them, Gaiachoton has more than a hard stare. He shouts over at the milling group and disperses the stragglers with a wave of his arm, giving the girls a meaningful look that they quickly obey. Catherine laughs over at the two young women as they move out of sight of the area.

"You don't have to worry about being noticed, it seems." Raonraon scoffs and crosses her arms under her breasts.

"They were not looking at me. I am like a child to them. They were looking at her." She tilts her head toward her friend. Catherine takes in the sight of Raonraon's small form, her shapeliness only accentuated by her posture, and laughs quietly, knowing her smallness only makes her more attractive.

"And I am taller than some of them. What man wants a woman to be bigger than he? They were looking at you two more than us." Tsihskoko laments. Anika's tinkling laugh quells any further words from the tall young woman.

"You are both pretty girls in your own ways. I saw many eyes looking at you more than us. Besides, we're taken and you're both available." Catherine elbows Anika.

"Gads, Anika! They're so young! Don't rush them." She leans forward to look at the two younger women.

"Don't be foolish like me and run into the arms of the first handsome man who comes along. Wait for someone good. It's not worth the pain…" Anika snorts at Catherine's pessimism.

"And don't you act like all handsome men are bad. You were particularly unlucky." The two young women look confused and Catherine decides to tell them an abbreviated and glossed over version of her history. They are both sad and confused at her telling of it.

"Why did you not just divorce him when he was unloving?" Catherine smiles at Tsihskoko's genuine confusion.

"Our ways are different from yours. Women do not have any power over men and men can do anything they want."

"That is nonsense! I would have thrown him out with only his things, to go back to his longhouse." Raonraon cries, scandalized.

"That's the problem, Raonraon. Everything was his, including the house. It would have been me with nothing and I had no other place to go. That's why I'm so grateful that Connor… Ratonhnhake:ton found me. He saved my life."

"You have a place now and if Ratonhnhake:ton is not good to you, you can throw him out!" Raonraon laughs with a flinging motion of her hands outward from her stomach. Tsihskoko covers her mouth and giggles.

"I doubt I would find a reason to throw him out! He's very considerate, even if he is a bit stubborn at times."

"So are you…" Anika smirks, looking innocently at the trees as they walk and linking her arm with Catherine. Catherine smiles at her friend and the girls take them back to the village.

The longhouse is surprisingly full of many women when they return, dressed in more detailed clothing than they had seen before with many of them having bear symbols or bear jewelry on their person. None are as decked out as the Clan Mother, who wears her beautiful wrap from the day before. She gives a stern look to the young women and they quickly usher Catherine and Anika to the group.

"We must prepare you for the adoption ceremony." The old woman intones, gesturing to the other gathered women. Several come forward and join with Raonraon and Tsihskoko in unbraiding their hair and helping them out of their clothing. Several more women bring over buckets of hot water from a nearby firepit. Anika and Catherine exchange confused looks and initially try to resist being undressed until the girls start to explain the process to them.

"You must be bathed and dressed in fine clothes to be presented to the clan. The women all help because you will be daughters and sisters to them." Catherine clings to her fabric shirt, afraid to reveal her nakedness. Anika uses her arm to cover her breasts and a hand to cover between her legs. An older, grandmotherly looking woman scolds them, gesturing to Anika's desperate attempts to stay covered and Catherine's grasp on her shirt.

"What is she saying?" Anika asks, her eyes wide and round. Raonraon translates.

"She says you should not hide your womanliness. You should be proud of it for it is the bearing of children and the giving of life that endows women with their strength." The old woman lightly touches her own breasts and continues speaking.

"She has suckled nine children and they have borne children, making her proud and bringing her much honor."

"Nine!" Catherine exclaims, unable to imagine going through what she had endured nine times. The old woman turns to her and points a gnarled finger at Catherine's stomach. Raonraon continues to translate.

"She says you will bear children as well and they will bring you honor."

"Maybe someday." Catherine whispers softly. Raonraon steps behind her, starting to lift her shirt and Catherine isn't shocked when a gasp comes from her as her scars are exposed. The old woman makes a request and Raonraon whispers apologetically.

"I must show them." She strokes Catherine's arm and gathers her hair enough to move it over one shoulder before turning her around so that all of the women can see her back. A collective buzz runs through the group and several fingers touch her skin, tracing the scars gently. Catherine struggles for breath and Anika takes her hand as a tear rolls down her cheek. She is ashamed of her mutilated skin and feels like she is a spectacle in a travelling Curiosity Show. Raonraon pats her arm and quickly reaches up to wipe the tear away before anyone sees. It is a sweet gesture and Catherine smiles weakly at her.

"You are strong. That is proof." The young woman whispers, nodding reassuringly. Catherine is grateful the young woman knows her past, at least the larger picture of it and can understand why she is so upset. She collects herself and listens closer to the sounds the women are making as the group shuffles around to allow others to come close and touch her scars. Instead of expressions of disgust, she hears murmurs of approval and consideration. It settles her nerves just a little.

Once the fervor over her scars dies down, some of the women start bathing her where she stands beside Anika. When both of them have been scrubbed until their skin is pink, long, heavily embellished tunics are brought in along with some soft leggings and moccasins with beaded and embroidered pieces of hide sewn onto the tops. The tunics have depictions of bears worked into the design and fall to just below their knees, with dangling porcupine quills attached to the hem. In short order, the two women are dressed in their new clothing and their hair is braided and decorated with shells and wooden beads. Tsihskoko and Raonraon present them with the necklaces they had produced the night before. One of the women approaches with a thin, sharpened tool in her hand that looks like a large needle.

"You have no holes for ear ornaments." When she reaches up toward Catherine she jumps away with a gasp, raising her hands up in front of her face defensively. Her heart had been racing since the moment they had become surrounded by all these women. She had tolerated the undressing and the bathing, their hands on her and their fingers touching her scars but this is too much. Anika's voice sounds as if she is speaking to her from under water and her fingers start to tingle. The longhouse becomes darker and much more claustrophobic suddenly. Gentle hands guide her to one of the sleeping areas and she sits numbly on the soft furs. Tsihskoko and Anika are sitting beside her and the woman with the sharp implement is standing patiently looking down at them.

"It only hurts for two or three days…" she is saying pragmatically. Anika takes her hand and confidently speaks up.

"I'll do it first and tell you what it's like." She beckons to the woman and she approaches, reaching out to take the soft lobe of Anika's ear in her fingers. She winces when the woman quickly thrusts the needle through her skin and again when she pushes an earring through the hole. The process is repeated on the other side and when it is done, Anika reaches up to touch her new baubles.

"It's not that bad. How do I look?" Anika says to Catherine, her voice tight and a little too buoyant.

"You're a terrible liar!" Catherine cries. Anika laughs and Catherine finds herself calming down a little. It is not the idea of having piercings that frighten her but rather, the adoption ceremony. She is allowing herself to be incorporated into a group of people she hardly knows. Not only is she taking on the title "of the Bear Clan" into her name, she is also making a commitment to an entire clan of people, the tribe of Kanien'keha:ka and the entire Haudenosaunee collective. She is stepping into a new life, a new way and a new existence. When she had agreed to it she had done so out of her love for Anika and Connor. When will she start doing things just for herself? Why is she so reluctant to take a chance on something that could be good for her?

"They are pretty." She admits, lightly touching one of the beads dangling from Anika's reddened lobes. She turns and faces the woman who pierced her.

"Do it. It's only pain, after all…" Catherine says, steeling herself. The woman nods, as if she never expected any further protest to be made. To her surprise, though it is painful, it's nothing compared to what she has suffered already and she reminds herself that this is something she is choosing to do.

Compared to all the fuss over getting them bathed and dressed, the actual ceremony is cursory and rather nondescript. Catherine and Anika stand before the gathered women and The Clan Mother speaks to them. There is a brief period of time where all the women appear saddened. Some even weep loudly. Then they start showering Catherine and Anika with affection and the mood changes to that of happiness and good cheer. There is much embracing and chatter, after which, the ceremony appears to end.

"What just happened?" Catherine asks the girls when they are no longer the center of attention. Tsihskoko smiles.

"You were adopted! When the clan loses members either from sickness or in warfare, all grieve. The ones who have lost children or a mate or a brother or sister are allowed to claim new members as their own children or siblings and they are adopted as family. You two are special. No one has died within the past year so you were not adopted into just one family. You are the daughters of all the clan, for we have all lost people we care about before but now we have you both to bring extra joy into the clan. That is why we are sad and then happy."

"Is it usually done with only the women present?" Anika asks.

"It is always the women who adopt. Never the men!" Raonraon says, laughing, as if the very idea is preposterous.

Outside, the women linger near the river, spending more time with the two girls explaining some of the finer details of adoption as the sun makes its way down toward the horizon and the village starts to bustle with the returning people. Catherine and Anika are rather horrified at the concept of what seems to be akin to a war of mourning, carried out by the warriors of the Haudenosaunee and particularly the Kanien'keha:ka when a clan's numbers are depleted for any reason. Captives are taken from neighboring tribes who are at war with the Haudenosaunee and if they survive the harsh and demoralizing treatment, are often adopted into the clan and accepted as family immediately. It seems extreme and cruel, yet Tsihskoko and Raonraon don't view it that way.

"The women and children are always adopted but the men must prove that they are strong and brave, never showing pain or falling down."

"If they are not strong, we do not want them." They speak in a matter of fact way, unable to see it through Anika and Catherine's eyes.

"Do any ever run away?"

"Never. They become family. They have honor and love. Some men even become chiefs within the tribe." Catherine reflects on their two young guides' perception of men being the ones who reign supreme in her world. It is such a foreign and nonsensical concept for them. How can she view something that seems equally unfair and cruel as more wrong than what Francisco and Sergio had attempted to carry out with her, using their power to cruelly manipulate the laws of marriage to their own ends. She knows that it is different, for they had cruel intentions and dishonest goals. At least the people captured and adopted here face a brighter future for their pains.

Anika, too, is lost in her ruminations. Her train of thought is much different, for she is remembering Sonehso:wa's stern containment of pain after his terrible injury at the hands of Sergio's lackeys. He had refused to acknowledge that he was limited in any capacity and only at Anika's pestering insistence did he submit to the luxury of lying down. After that he was all business and had not accepted any additional concessions. Is it because men are held to such high levels of expectations for bravery and stoic endurance? Does he feel he has something to prove or is he just a product of his culture and anything else would have been a deviation of normal behavior for a man?

Both of them are interrupted by the appearance of Connor and Sonehso:wa. The men approach them from along the river, leaving the group of men they had been walking with and ignoring their laughing and rowdy calls. When they near the women, they both take in their new clothing with very different expressions on their faces. Sonehso:wa is smiling widely, his teeth showing as he laughs approvingly at them both. Connor is almost expressionless, his eyes moving from Anika to Catherine and looking her over from head to toe. Before she can stop herself Catherine takes a step toward him, drawn by the way his heart is written upon his eyes. Tsihskoko stops in mid sentence as she had tried to include an additional argument for adopting in their customary way. She reaches behind Anika and jabs Raonraon's arm with her finger, motioning silently to her friend as the men come closer. They slip away unnoticed by the women and quietly acknowledged for their discretion by the men.

Both of the men's hair is wet and they appear to have just returned from washing in the river. They must have been out working all day and the girls had not happened to take them where they were.

"Look at these two beautiful Bears." Sonehso:wa exclaims, making a dramatic gesture with his hands that encompasses both Catherine and Anika. Connor looks at his friend calmly, dragging out the silence until Sonehso:wa scowls at him. He faces Catherine and a hint of a smile lifts the corners of his mouth.

"Now we will have to beg his mother to entreat your Clan Mother on our behalf. Maybe she will accept us as good enough for you." Catherine holds out her hands and Connor steps closer to take them. She draws him close and abruptly moves in for a hug instead.

"What is this? Are you well?" Catherine nods, her face pressed against his chest. She leans back and looks up at him. He moves his hand to touch one of her new earrings.

"They saw my scars. All of the women of… of my clan." Connor smiles at her ownership of her new family.

"And?" he prompts, worried.

"And it wasn't as horrible as I was expecting. It was hard, but they didn't find them… disgusting." Connor's face becomes creased with concern at her words.

"They are not disgusting. Your scars are important. They are part of you and always will be. You must accept that… they are a mark of your survival." Catherine lowers her face against Connor's chest and thinks about what he said. He smells like the river, the hide clothing he wears and the leather of the straps that so often cross his chest even though today there are none, for he is not wearing his bow. The warm scent of his skin is faint, washed away by the water of the river but there is enough of it, combined with his presence, to comfort her.

"I missed you. We haven't been apart for this long since you found me."

"There will be many times when we are apart. You will get used to it, as I will, though it will be hard at first." When Catherine steps back from him, Anika and Sonehso:wa are nowhere to be seen.

"Where…" She looks around briefly.

"Inside. Come with me… we will walk along the river." He leads her toward the water's edge and Catherine removes her woven shoes and carries them to walk barefoot in the cool sand. The water laps along the edge of the shore where the dry, yellowed stalks of last year's cattails stand and rushes over large, submerged stones farther out. A man nods at them as he lifts a basket of silvery fish, some still flopping inside, and starts to carry his catch toward the village. Partly around a bend beyond the edge of the wooden palisade that surrounds the village, Connor leads Catherine up onto a large, flat rock that juts out into the flow of the river. Together they sit, with Catherine ensconced comfortably between Connor's knees in the way she likes best. It is a protective pose and she never fails to feel calm and relaxed within the confines of his limbs. He covers the backs of her hands with his and brings each palm to his mouth to kiss before crossing her arms over her in an embrace. Closing her eyes, Catherine leans back against him and he rests his cheek against the top of her head. Though they can still hear the sounds of the village at times over the watery babble of the river, the feeling of being alone is strong here.

"I could stay like this forever…" she sighs. Connor hums softly in agreement and plays with the fringed edge of her sleeve.

"There is something I would like to show you some day soon, if you can break away from Anika and your two guides." He says quietly.

"I don't know what is proper… I don't want to offend anyone."

"It does not have to happen tomorrow. Just… soon." He caresses her hands in his and it isn't until the sun is fully down that they make their way back to the village and say their goodbyes outside the longhouse.

Anika is not at their section but sitting with several families at one of the communal fires inside. Catherine quietly joins her and is warmly welcomed by everyone there. Someone passes her a wooden bowl with some food and she takes it gratefully, her stomach rumbling loudly enough for Anika to hear. Raonraon is across the fire, sitting with her parents and a small boy who must be her brother, for he shares the same delicate features as she and her mother. She waves and Catherine warmly waves back. Before long, the conversation at the fire becomes a mixture of English and Kanien'keha and Catherine and Anika are not singled out as much. It is surprisingly calming to lose some of her popularity, though at times either she or Anika is directly spoken to during the time spent eating and while stories are being told. She takes comfort in the growing anonymity that constant exposure brings them. The small children still steal glances often in their direction but to the adults, they are simply two more Kanien'keha:ka women gathered with the rest of the clan.

More time passes than Catherine had expected before she can comfortably bring herself to detach from Tsihskoko and Raonraon's company. Anika had known she was looking for an opportunity since the beginning and had encouraged her to take advantage of what seemed to be a day that was less busy for most in the village. Much of the planting is done and for over a week, both Anika and Catherine had participated in the sowing process, as was expected from them as women of the tribe. They found the process a little tiring by the end of the day, yet it is gratifying and fulfilling work, knowing they are supporting the entire tribe with their labors just as everyone else does. Connor and Sonehso:wa had been busy as well, joining with the men to hunt and work at bringing down trees and lighting the controlled fires that would clear the new field to prepare it for planting. Since the village had only been in its current location for a short time, much clearing and preparing of fields remains so everyone is always busy with many tasks. Days where a rest can be taken are enjoyed by almost everyone as a time to socialize and relax or work on personal things. So after a morning of sitting with several women taking turns teaching or learning each others' sewing techniques, Anika had stated that she might go work on a project of her own and suggests with more than a hint of meaning that Catherine could take a walk outside.

Catherine takes her leave and ponders Anika's secretive project she has been working on. As she walks she loops the curly ends of her loose hair over her fingers. As much as having braids had been very convenient for working, she still feels most comfortable with her hair down and not pulled tightly into braids. Anika had taken quite well to wearing them, for she always preferred having her hair styled in her braided bun so this is a simpler variation that keeps her fine strands out of her face. Since Catherine knows Connor likes her braids, she had worn them regularly but today she just wants the freedom. She had overheard Anika asking the girls and other women what the traditional wedding ceremony is like and what is involved. She seems to be very serious about marrying Sonehso:wa. More than once, Catherine had seen Ori:te'hiyo speaking with their Clan Mother and looking in their direction or rather, Anika's direction.

Inside the Wolf longhouse where Connor has been staying with Sonehso:wa's family, Catherine finds Ori:te'hiyo and Katsi'tenhiyo sitting together. Ori:te'hiyo is braiding her daughter's hair as she watches her work on a beaded section of hide for a pair of moccasins. As Catherine approaches, the child looks up with such a look of stubborn frustration on her face that she can't help but smile.

"Those look nice, Katsi'tenhiyo." The child scowls at her work and mumbles at Catherine.

"They are ugly. I do not like doing this."

"You must do it and you will do it." Ori:te'hiyo says sternly to her daughter as she ties a piece of string around the end of her braid. The child hunches down and resumes working on her beading. Ori:te'hiyo looks up and smiles kindly at Catherine.

"Catherine. What brings you here? Are you looking for Ratonhnhake:ton?"

"Yes. Do you know where he is?"

"He went out with my son to set some snares early this morning. Sonehso:wa wants to catch some foxes and rabbits before they shed their white coats. They will return soon. Will you stay and wait with us?" Her smile is welcoming and Catherine is happy to have been invited to stay. She likes the woman very much and feels loved in return.

"Of course! Maybe I can help with some sewing?" she says as she lowers herself down next to the woman.

"Maybe you can…" she says and gets up to retrieve a large, woven basket from the shelf above their sleeping area.

"Is Anika near?" she asks Catherine.

"She's working on something in our longhouse... and being very coy about it." Ori:te'hiyo smiles softly.

"Good. She will not see this then." She raises up the lid of the basket to reveal several white rabbit pelts inside.

"It does not surprise me that she hides her work. She is making something for my son. It is traditional at a wedding for a woman to show her skills of making clothing and cooking as a way to indicate her abilities as a wife. The man shows his ability to provide for the woman and future children by presenting her with hides and furs, sometimes tools if he is skilled with them."

"I knew it! I knew it had to do with them getting married. I think… I think Anika is keeping quiet about it because she knows I'm not ready to make that kind of commitment yet."

"You are right. She is very excited but does not want to hurt you because of it. She is afraid you will be sad when Sonehso:wa comes to live with her and you will not have a companion."

"But she shouldn't be! I want them to get married."

"And she wants you to marry Ratonhnhake:ton." Catherine lowers her head.

"Why will you not, daughter? He loves you. Is there something lacking in him? He is a good hunter, a strong fighter and a brave man." Catherine shakes her head, not looking up from the floor. Ori:te'hiyo looks at her daughter and holds her hands out for the beaded pieces of hide.

"That is enough for today. You can go play now." Before her mother can take back her words, Katsi'tenhiyo is on her feet and running out of the longhouse as fast as she can without a backward glance.

"Now. Tell me." Catherine looks into the woman's eyes as she sets the pieces her daughter had been working on to the side and reaches to take her hands in both of hers. Her warmth is kind and genuine and it is obvious she loves Connor as she loves Sonehso:wa.

"I…" Catherine feels tears stinging her eyes.

"I love him as well but…I'm afraid."

"What are you afraid of?"

"Getting hurt again."

"He will not harm you."

"I know he won't but I… I can't explain it. I can't… I can't trust anymore. But that's not it either. I trust him but with what happened to me… my mind and body play tricks on each other. I'm sorry I'm so weak. I'm too afraid to commit my life to him. Once was enough and look what it got me..." Her tears fall and the older woman moves closer and pulls Catherine's head down to her bosom, cradling her like a small child and stroking her cheek.

"No, my daughter, do not be sorry." Catherine takes a shuddering breath and hugs Ori:te'hiyo tightly.

"You have had more suffering than most women I know. Your people's ways are strange and hard to understand. But I cannot believe that what your husband did to you was right by any laws. He has a corrupted spirit and I understand how what you went through can make you not want to trust anymore." Ori:te'hiyo's voice is soothing and Catherine closes her eyes and takes comfort from her as she continues to speak.

"But I see it from the other side too, as the one who wants to be loved in return. When Sonehso:wa first came here with his father, he did not trust me or anyone else. He loves me now but, oh! It was many summers before he came to love me as he does. He did not call me mother until he was more than twenty years old. Over five years it took! There was a wound in him that I feared would never heal. I still see it in his eyes sometimes. In Ratonhnhake:ton too. He is a man with emotions that run deeper than the river." Catherine nods against her chest, seeing the look that Connor gets when he is preoccupied in her mind's eye.

"Do you see it also?" At her query, Catherine sits back and wipes her eyes.

"I know it well."

"Then you know that the marks the past leave on you will always be there but it is up to you to keep them from holding you back from what you want or from taking a chance again. Has it stopped Ratonhnhake:ton? He could have let his losses and failures stop him long ago but still he fights. Do not let your past keep you from happiness."

"Oh, Ori:te'hiyo! It's so easy to say!"

"I know. But think on it." She smiles and touches Catherine's cheek with a cool hand. Catherine takes it and squeezes it tightly, looking at her lap. She takes a calming breath and her eyes fall on the white rabbit pelts in the basket. Why can't she be brave like Anika? She is ready to cast her entire life aside for Sonehso:wa. But with all that has happened, giving up her past is an easy decision; it has nothing for her anymore. Suddenly Catherine becomes very still. Shouldn't it be the same for her? Why would she want to return to New York? Does she miss the prestige she had had as a lady of status? Is it riches? No. Is it ease? Maybe. But what is she willing to sacrifice for an easy life? Her freedom, her rights and her dignity? The last thing she wants is to become the property of a man and that is exactly what waits for her in New York. The lifestyle of a rich, white colonist, or even a poor one is still one of utter subservience to a man. If she remains single her options become even more limited and her life that much more dangerous, for she would have no protection.

"I will think on it, I promise."

"Good." Ori:te'hiyo looks into Catherine's eyes and smiles reassuringly.

"So what are you going to make with these white furs?" Catherine asks. She suspects it must be for Anika and suddenly she wants her best friend to know that she should not hide her happiness for her sake. Are they not sisters? Should they not rejoice in her union together? Ori:te'hiyo's smile widens and she lifts the fur from the basket. Instead of several individual pelts, it is many sewn carefully together.

"I want to make clothing for Anika to wear for the wedding. It is tradition for the man and woman being wed to wear white furs so they stand out for all to see. She tells me you help make the clothing she wears. I like how they are shaped. Will you help me make her some?"

"Of course I will! But I'm not very good at using beads yet. Even little Katsi'tenhiyo is better than me. I don't want to ruin the design."

"We will work together on her outfit." Ori:te'hiyo explains her vision for the clothing and asks for Catherine's input on what Anika would like. They decide to keep it a traditional Kanien'keha:ka style and modify some details so that it fits her similarly to her hide shirt does. As they sketch out ideas they add in a bear design made of green and black glass beads on the chest of the tunic and green embroidery along the neckline and hems. While Catherine starts to work on the pattern, Ori:te'hiyo grinds up what she needs to make a green dye for the embroidery and the lacing that will hold it all together.

As she works, Catherine's thoughts fall back to her conundrum. Why does she weep for what might have been? Isn't life so much simpler here in this place, far from the sexist hierarchy of her race? Though women here hold power it isn't done cruelly. The men are respected and honored and put in places of authority as war chiefs and leaders. No man in New York or anywhere else would do that for a woman, yet she hesitates to leave it behind. And Connor continues to wait for her. He has made it clear he will wait forever but will he really? Will he grow weary of her procrastination and look elsewhere for a companion? The thought makes her stomach curdle in fear and sadness. Isn't that answer enough for her as to how she feels about a life without him in it? Her hands slow until she sits hunched over the skin side of the white furs, the charred drawing stick she holds sitting forgotten across her knees. Connor would do anything for her. Should she not be willing to do the same? Bringing her left hand to her chest, she thinks of all that has transpired between them in the nearly three months they have known each other. She has changed from fearing him to trusting him with her life and a love she had never known existed in reality has blossomed in her heart. Only one physical barrier lies between them and Catherine defiantly prods it with her love.

Sonehso:wa's laugh carries into the longhouse from outside and both Catherine and Ori:te'hiyo scramble to fold the white fur pattern pieces and hide their work. Catherine snatches up one of Katsi'tenhiyo's moccasin designs and pretends to be admiring it while Ori:te'hiyo lounges in a semblance of idleness against the side of the bed with one arm draped over the lidded basket, looking for all the world like a proud mother listening to praise over her daughter's work. They are the embodiment of innocence when Connor and Sonehso:wa walk over to them.

"Oh, my son, will you put this basket up?" Ori:te'hiyo says to Sonehso:wa. He reaches down for the basket and places it on the shelf for her without question. Catherine looks studiously at the beaded piece in her hands and lets her hair fall down to hide her smile. She wants to laugh but it would spoil their surprise. She hands the piece to Ori:te'hiyo.

"Your daughter does beautiful work; she has a good teacher. If only I were so skilled. Thank you for letting me sit with you."

"Of course." Ori:te'hiyo makes a kindly gesture with her hand and gets to her feet as Catherine does. Connor stands quietly with his hands couched loosely in front of him and his shoulders back. He looks from Catherine to Ori:te'hiyo and back again.

"Go! You do not need my permission!" Ori:te'hiyo laughs merrily and Sonehso:wa smirks at his friend. Connor looks sheepish until Catherine laughs and moves to his side. She smiles up at him and takes his elbow daintily as if she is a lady in fine silks about to perambulate with a dapper suitor and not a woman with wayward curls dressed in hides and holding the arm of a Kanien'keha:ka hunter. As they are leaving the longhouse, Sonehso:wa calls out to them, his voice dripping with false concern.

"You will miss playing tewa'a:raton, brother!" Connor raises his arm over his head and makes a dismissive swatting motion through the air without turning around or answering, causing Sonehso:wa to howl with laughter. Catherine looks up at Connor as they exit into the sunshine, her face confused. Connor answers her unspoken question.

"A game played with netted sticks for catching and throwing a ball. They play often. I will not be missed."

"Are you certain?"

"Yes. Speak no more of it."

The sun is dappled as it shines through the branches of the widely spaced trees on the hillside. The temperature is comfortable and Connor and Catherine had shed their jackets as they walked through the forest. The world seems poised to break from its long winter sleep, lending a static, waiting quality to the air that builds into an agitated droning in Catherine's body. Combined with her recent ruminations and her curiosity regarding what Connor has to tell her, the tension makes her restless. A large, house-like structure with several round holes along the top edge standing on a wooden pole between some trees comes into sight up ahead. When they climb up the hill and draw closer a soft cooing sound emanates from it, building and ebbing in purring waves. It is a pigeon coop.

"This is how the Brotherhood can reach me if something happens while I am gone and they need to send for me or get instructions. I have pigeons from Davenport, Boston and New York in there. My contacts in those locations have birds from here and the other places. When I can, I take back birds from each place so I am not left without access to the cities." Connor hooks his jacket on a nearby branch, unlatches and opens a small door in the side of the coop and reaches in. When he withdraws his hand, a pigeon rests in it. It stirs and raises its wings but he quickly covers the bird with his other hand to keep it from flying away. There is a tiny piece of green string tied around one of its legs protruding from between his fingers. Connor angles the bird so Catherine can see it. She drapes her jacket over Connor's so she can stroke the soft, iridescent grey feathers of the bird's neck and wing.

"The green string means this one is from Davenport. Yellow is Boston and red is New York. There is one in here that has blue on it and that means it is from this village. It came from Boston in November with a message tied to its leg." Carefully, he releases the bird back into the coop and latches the door.

"What did it say?"

"Some Loyalist refugees from New York and Quebec had relocated to the newly independent colony of Cape Breton Island in Nova Scotia and found that there were no supplies for making shelters before winter was to come. All they had were metal hinges and locks. The trees were gone and there was nothing to build with or burn for fuel. There were talks of possible rioting and my Assassins there had sent to Boston for help. I travelled to Boston and then to the island on the Aquila and brought additional resources in with me so they could survive the winter."

"You gave aid to the Crown?"

"We helped people." He gently corrects her. Catherine quietly looks into the coop and observes the birds.

"Hmm. Well, Captain Generous, how do these birds know to come here or go to those cities?" Her voice is all sass and she smiles as she asks him but he remains serious with his answer.

"They return to where they are born. It is the fastest way to communicate with my contacts and for them to reach me but because there are only one or two birds from each location, we must use them for only the most urgent communication. It is why I did not use one for Anika. Though her situation was urgent, it was not known Assassin business. I still regret that decision." Catherine's smile falters at his confession.

"Why? As you said, you didn't know the Templars were involved at the time and she's safe now." Connor reaches his hands to Catherine's arms and draws her close to him in a hug. His sudden change in demeanor is unnerving and she wonders what disturbs him so much about not sending a bird. She lays her head on his chest and holds onto his waist. Connor rests his hand on the side of her head and softly works his fingertips into her wild curls. His voice rumbles in her ear.

"After you realized you were pregnant I watched you drifting away from me and there was nothing I could do to stop it. I thought if you were not so worried about Anika it would have helped you deal with your sorrow better and accept both your pregnancy and me." Catherine moves back so she can look up at him.

"I'm so sorry I made you worry. I felt… so lost, buried under the weight of my troubles. I knew what you felt for me but I couldn't let it in. I was too afraid of becoming a burden to you."

"You would never be a burden. Do you accept me now?" Catherine smiles at him and laughs, trying to dispel the oddness of their conversation. He is steering it somewhere and she finds herself worried about where he is taking it.

"You know I do. Why even ask me?"

"Because showing you this…" He gestures to the coop and his features become grave.

"… is a reminder that eventually I will need to return to my duties to the Brotherhood. I cannot stay here forever, though I wish there were no more wars to fight and we could simply live our lives … and raise a family in peace." Connor sighs and touches Catherine's cheek as a tiny crease forms between her eyebrows in response to his words. He doggedly continues, knowing the rest of what he has to say will not come easily.

"WildCat, I want you to stay here in the village when I leave. You will be safer here. Sonehso:wa knew about he coop but he didn't know the true meaning of my correspondence. Now he does. He has agreed to check for messages while I am gone and I will keep you both informed of where I am as often as I can." A crushing weight presses on Catherine's heart and she can't breathe because of it. While she has already fallen in love with his village and the people in it who so warmly welcomed her, the thought of waiting months for him to return, wondering if he is wounded or killed horrifies her. No! Her place is with him no matter what dangers it involves. She shakes her head slowly and looks up at him, holding his waist.

"I don't want to be safe. I want to be with you!" Her voice is a harsh, resolute whisper. If Connor did not know her better he would think she is angry with him. Maybe she is, just a little, but he knows it is an anger borne of the deepest form of passion and not shallow selfishness. He had anticipated this reaction and had prepared an additional argument.

"Anika and Sonehso:wa will be here. Do you not want to be here with them as they begin their lives together and start a family? You are her sister now and Sonehso:wa will provide for you in my absence."

"Of course I want to be here for them. I love Anika and she's always been my sister. But… sisters often have to separate when each one starts a new life. I accepted the dangerous path you chose a long time ago. Please don't cut me out of it now!" Connor's features constrict at her words. His thumb moves slowly over her cheekbone and his voice is soft when he replies to her.

"I am not cutting you out of my life. I want nothing more than to have you by my side, always, but I refuse to put your life at risk. If it is known that the woman I care for is near you could be come a target, a way to weaken me. I will not…" Catherine interrupts him and grabs his hand from her face.

"Then so be it! All the more reason to hold fast to your convictions! I haven't come back from Hell to stand aside when stormy weather threatens to dampen the day! You've taught me to be strong, to not give up, to weigh what really matters… Do you think I will just set that all aside and hide here while you face death? I won't do it! I'm tired of men making decisions for me when I'm perfectly capable of making them myself!" She has her hands balled into fists and pressed against his chest. Her next words come out in a choking whisper, the last of her anger falling from her as a sickening sense of desperation takes its place. She appeals to him with as much earnesty as she can muster.

"Don't ask me to stay here, so far from you... Ratonhnhake:ton, please!" Catherine had been strong until her emotions got the better of her. Tears burn her eyes and threaten to fall down her face but she lowers her head and blinks hard to control them. She is ashamed of herself for crying but how could he ask her to do this thing? How could he abandon her? She raises her face to him and clenches her teeth, quelling her tears and steeling her emotions. Instead of an expression of pity or disgust on his face, Connor appears… intrigued. His large hands close around her fists and he searches into her eyes for some time in silence. Catherine stares right back at him, unwilling to bend under his scrutiny, though her lips tremble and she has to press them together to stop it.

Connor is shocked by Catherine's vehemence. He is proud of her and in a way had hoped she would stand up to him on the matter. Her submissiveness in some situations had been disturbing but the instances when she fights are almost frightening in intensity. It is taking considerable effort on her part to do this; she is breathing hard and color has flushed her cheeks. Her eyes shine with unshed tears and she swallows as if in fear of his reaction. But all of that seems to recede into the background as the sound of his name, spoken from her lips, repeats in his head like a chant. She had only addressed him with his true name on rare occasions and each time had been rather amusing as she ran roughshod over the pronunciation. This time, it is as if she has been saying it all her life. Its syllables had flowed from her tongue like the sweetest honey and he yearns to hear it again. He finds it difficult to return to the issue at hand.

"As long as you understand the danger that surrounds me, my men, and what we do I will not force you to stay. But I will prevent you from actively joining me in any kind of close combat or high risk situations that will directly put you in danger. You must accept that and abide by my decisions regarding what qualifies as dangerous. I will not compromise. Will you do this?" His expression seems to indicate that if she does not agree he will leave her here when he needs to go, no matter how difficult it proves to be. She has no doubt that Sonehso:wa would detain her at his behest if she tries to follow.

"Yes, I promise I will." This time, her eyes fall to her feet and she is ashamed that she pushed back in defiance like an insolent and ungrateful woman. Connor uses his hand on her jaw to lift her eyes back to his. His face is no longer so hard and his voice is resonant with compassion.

"I would not require a promise of that sort from you if it were not for your protection. I do not seek to make petty decisions on your behalf. You are my light and I would surely be extinguished if something happened to you." Connor's words rob her of her breath and her speech. All she can do is look up at him, into the vastness of his eyes, and allow herself to be swallowed whole. His love crashes through her, stripping away all that she is and consuming her until there is no longer delineation between them. Crackling with a powerful electric fury, it renders everything she thought had mattered into inconsequential dust. When Catherine can finally take a shuddering breath, she throws herself against Connor, squeezing him around his neck with all the strength she has in her body. He returns her embrace with equal fervor, crushing out what little air she had managed to get into her lungs.

When Catherine's hold on him lessens, Connor raises his hands to her upper arms. A small noise escapes her throat and she opens her eyes, taking deep, open-mouthed breaths. So fiercely resolute, those sea colored eyes of hers… so beautiful. He bends to kiss her forehead. The moment he lowers his mouth down to hers she takes hold of his shoulders and rises onto her toes. Without hesitation, Connor bends and picks her up. Catherine wraps her legs around him tightly and grips the back of his neck with her hand, kissing him hard until she is once again breathless. Deciding to take advantage of this rare time they have alone, Connor carries her further up the hill to a sunny, open area where last year's dry grass is long and soft.

It is somewhat of a surprise when Connor starts walking up the hill. Catherine turns her face into the side of his neck and breathes in his scent, her fingers moving in the soft hair at the top of his neck. They don't travel far before the sun warms her back and Connor drops to his knees on the ground. Catherine lowers her legs from his hips and kneels in front of him. His right hand stays firmly on her bottom and holds her pressed against his hips while his left forearm and hand rest almost vertically up her back over her spine. He kisses her deeply yet softly, aggressively yet with the utmost care, sliding his hands up her sides and raising them to cup her face gently when they break away.

Catherine's lips are a deep scarlet in color, saturated with the flush of desire and the frisson of their kisses. The sun shines brightly yet her irises are a slender, sapphire corona surrounding fully opened pupils of the darkest black. With his thumbs against her jaw, he angles her head back and kisses her neck, feeling her short moan where it vibrates in her throat. He trails his fingers down the silky smooth skin of her neck and brushes them lightly over the layers of her shirts, tugging lightly on the strings of her fabric shirt where they hang over the neckline of her hide one. Downward his hands travel, ghosting over her breasts and coming to rest where her hips flare out from her waist. Catherine arches backwards to allow him greater access to her throat and he holds her against him with his left hand on her lower back. He reaches up with his right hand and blindly finds the tie to her hide shirt where it lays between her breasts, pulling it out slowly. When it is untied, he hooks his finger into the lacing and tugs it loose, pulling it down and trailing his lips to the exposed skin of her chest.

Connor's attentions are an excruciating agony of a unique echelon all its own. Her body is unable to cease its constant, reflexive movement in response to his attention; a breath, a shiver, a twitch… yet Catherine yearns to be still and feel his touch with every nerve under its influence. Her need is like nothing she has experienced before and she clutches at his arms in an attempt to find something unmoving within the tumult of her senses. Even there she finds a subtle play of muscular tension, attuned to each and every move she makes. The warmth of his lips and the cool aftermath of his tongue are an exquisite torture and she raises her right hand to grasp at the back of his head, pressing his mouth to her chest. His teeth dig into her skin at her unexpected act and Catherine gasps at the scraping of her flesh but Connor is quick to kiss the place, making her forget any momentary discomfort.

Unable to travel any lower over her skin, Connor slowly draws back from Catherine and looks at her in his arms. Her head hangs back and her body is alive with her breathing, her hands grasping him tightly. When she raises her head, her eyes are glassy with desire and she abruptly falls upon him like a voracious creature, pulling at the laces of his shirt and dragging it up from his waist. He can't contain his amorous grin as he helps her pull his shirt over his head. Immediately her hands are on his chest, her fingers moving over his skin and gliding down to his abdomen before rising back up to his collar bones. She traces his tattoos as she kisses his chest and her left hand lingers on his scar for just a moment. Connor thought he was aroused before but this unusual hunger in her is driving him wild. Moving his hands to the bottom edge of her hide shirt, he scoops it in his fingers and raises it until he can take her fabric shirt in them as well. Slowly, he lifts them both up, exposing her smooth stomach and the bottom curves of her breasts. Catherine raises her arms off of him long enough for him to pull her shirts over her head. Her hair falls in a tumble down her back and over her shoulders as Connor drops her clothing to the side. He cups her right breast briefly in his left hand and splays his other over her back, lowering his mouth to her left breast. He uses his lips to move her hair aside and, bracing his left hand on the ground, lowers her onto her back in the soft grass.

His warm lips on her skin recall to her the moments they had spent together just before Sonehso:wa had returned to the cabin with Anika. All the feelings she had experienced then come rushing back to her now as if it had been only hours ago. Opening her eyes just a little, she watches as he slowly kisses her with his eyes closed. His broad shoulders rise above her and take up almost all of her view. His skin has darkened from working in the sun, increasing the contrast created by her hand on his shoulder. When she twines her fingers in his hair he starts kissing lower and his fingers run a languorous race ahead of his mouth to the edge of her pants. She barely feels him as he unties her lacing, his warm breath and lips grazing over her stomach, circling her navel and sending thrills up and down her body. They arc like lightning from her spine to between her legs and up through her breasts and fingers, rendering her weak yet wanting to weep for more. Only when he slips his fingers under the waist of her pants does she take note of what he is doing. It merely serves to increase the intensity of her surging desire and though he places distracting kisses in a heated trail below her navel, her hips lift almost on their own accord. As he slides her pants lower, he raises his lips from her and runs a hand down each of her legs, unbuttoning and slipping her boots off one by one and following adeptly in their wake with her pants. A groan rumbles in his chest as he looks at her, his heady desire luminously reflected in his eyes like a low flame.

It is all Connor can do to hold back his need to touch her that very moment. Instead, he trails his hands slowly up her legs from her narrow ankles, savoring the creamy smoothness of her skin and the shape of her thighs where they widen into her hips. He follows the curving dip of her waist, dropping kisses here and there in a random pattern. The sun crosses her body, turning her into a searingly bright entity before him, as beautiful as the visions of spirits he had seen in his youth. Catherine is a feast for his senses and he closes his eyes for a moment, truly experiencing her body with his hands as he alternates between feather light brushing and firm pressure. She trembles under his touch and he opens his eyes, expecting to see the fear that usually lurks under the surface of her trust. Instead, he finds her with her head thrown back, her hands by her sides and her fingers twined loosely into the grass. She is completely surrendering to his touch and her body is lost in pure enjoyment. Unable to resist the allure of bringing her to as yet undiscovered heights of pleasure, he leans over her and kisses her exposed neck, trailing his hands, mouth and tongue in a slow dance down her body, lingering just over her until she arches up into him and he responds with a soft graze of his teeth on her skin. She cries out and tightens her hands on the grass momentarily. Connor moves lower, his hands sliding down her hips and the tops of her thighs.

Catherine can't control her breathing anymore and each breath is ragged and uneven, not matching the one before or the one after. Every touch and kiss Connor delivers ricochets through her, increasing an unspeakable need to levels she finds almost unbearable. He slides his hands over her thighs and then down the insides of them, hooking his arms underneath her knees, bending them up and out to the sides, and resting his hands on the sides of her hips. He shrugs her knees up onto his shoulders and leans down close to her stomach. His exhalations are warm on her skin but in a moment of suddenly exploding sensation, his mouth is on her most intimate area. A breathy scream escapes her unbidden at the feeling. It makes her half sit up in shock and then fall back down, only to writhe in ecstasy as she tries to comprehend what she is feeling. Tidal forces start to converge in her body. Catherine screams out her need, tearing a handful of grass from the ground and finding no satisfying outlet for the pent up sensations that boil ceaselessly within her. When Connor lifts his lips from her his warm breath send shivers of delight over her body. She is teetering on the edge of an unknown, enticing precipice and her body is begging to be thrown over.

Connor is spellbound by Catherine's responses to him. Her body had arched and twisted prettily, her uncontrolled reactions the result of pure, carnal awakening. He loved knowing what he did had caused her to react without conscious thought. He has waited endlessly to give her this and is impatient to give her more, to show her that what happened to her was a ghastly perversion of what sex should be. He wants to strip away the last bonds that tie her to her hideous abuse and bring her out of the darkness that has held her prisoner for much too long. Still watching, he lowers his mouth to her and circles around her sensitive area. Withdrawing his right hand from her hip, he pauses in his enthusiastic attentions to wet two fingers in his mouth before quickly returning to her sweetness. The next time she eagerly raises her hips up to him he presses them to her.

The moment his fingers find her, she arches upwards with a throaty moan. He raises his head from her and moves slightly forward, sliding his free hand from her hip, up her thigh and letting it come to rest just shy of her knee where it bends over his shoulder. With almost excruciating slowness, he slips his fingers just inside of her, watching her reactions carefully for any sign that he is hurting her or increasing her fear. She watches him with lust-darkened eyes but nothing she does appears particularly alarming so he lowers his mouth once more to her to encourage her to relax. She takes a handful of his hair and grips it tightly. Her breathy sighs and moans become drawn out and rise steadily in pitch as he plays on her body's heightened sensitivity to draw out her bliss. A hoarse cry tears itself from her and she drops onto her back, releasing her hold on his hair and lying limply before him, panting. It is a truly glorious sight.

The way Connor used his mouth and tongue on her had drawn her out and laid her open, exposing a need she had not realized she had. She wanted more, something greater, and the instant Connor's fingers found her she knew that it was the very thing she hungered after even as her fear tore her heart to pieces and fed it to the insatiable appetite of her past. For a moment that seemed to last an eternity, Catherine had felt a burgeoning panic when Connor used his fingers on her. The sensation of being penetrated was frightening in its familiarity yet intoxicatingly close to perfection. Her irresistible need prevailed at last, overpowering her anxiety and crushing it in its shadow. When her body had responded with such exquisite sensations she had felt like she was drowning and gulping the purest air at the same time until all thought was seared from her mind except what her body was feeling.

Catherine opens her eyes only after the final pulse of her body leaves her weak with a vibrant and thrumming fluidity to her senses that had not been there before. Connor is watching her, an erotic half-smile on his face that is laced with almost worshipful adoration as his eyes roam over her body. Letting out a low, satisfied noise of appreciation, he kisses the inside of her thigh with calculated slowness, making her legs quiver with ticklish enjoyment. It inflames her need, drawing it up to the surface after it had only just been sated. He kisses her other thigh, slides her legs off his shoulders and sits up, smiling hungrily as he looks at her, consuming her nakedness, his eyes lingering on her as he starts to untie the laces of his pants.

A strange sense of relief fills Catherine that he isn't going to stop. Hasn't he waited long enough for this? She is willing to give him what he craves, knowing he selflessly seeks out her enjoyment more than his own. As he pulls his boots off, Catherine watches him, looking at his body with open admiration for its strength and form. He is a sight to behold when he stands by her feet, the muscles in his thighs and stomach shifting as he slowly lowers himself to his knees between her legs and leans over her. Catherine slides the fingers of both hands into his hair when Connor kisses his way up her body, reversing the path he had taken earlier and stopping for some time to lavish her breasts with kisses. Her anticipation increases as he slowly works his way up to her neck and jaw. Impatient for his mouth, she guides him to her lips at last and tightens her fingers in his hair, determined to keep him where she can kiss him, at least for a little while.

He raises his body up slightly and reaches between them as they kiss, positioning himself. He curves his hand over the rise of her hip but as he slowly begins, a sudden, unexpected burst of panic tears through Catherine's body. Too many things she is feeling remind her of being raped. The ground beneath her back, the pull of a hand on her hip, a man's body between her thighs, and the memory of the horrible pain. With a high pitched squeak of anxiety, she pushes against Connor and digs her heels into the grass, escaping him. Only barely, she somehow keeps her voice a whisper and not a scream.

"No! Not like this!" Connor leans on his elbows over her, his widened eyes searching her face. She had propelled herself so far backwards that she is half out from under him and his face is level with her stomach.

"Not like this." She says again, softer.

"Did I hurt you?"

"No..." Catherine shakes her head and can't articulate what she means. It isn't the intimacy with him that she fears. He had already shown her how wonderful he can make her feel. It's the dominant position of him over her that had reopened her old wound. Unable to explain, she sits up and pushes on Connor's shoulders with her hands. He rolls to the side and Catherine continues to push on him until he is on his back. She follows the movement of his body with hers and straddles him, leaning down to hover her mouth over his lips. Connor stares at her, his eyebrows nearly touching from the consternation on his face. His stomach is tense under her hands.

"Like this, Ratonhnhake:ton…" she whispers and kisses him softly. She takes her lips from him and watches as Connor's expression changes from confusion to understanding and he starts to laugh softly beneath her. Catherine sits up and looks with worry at him. He only smiles wider and places his hands on the sides of her waist.

"Say that again, WildCat." She shakes her head, baffled by his request and his laughter. Connor slides his hands up her back and draws her down until her lips just barely touch his again.

"My name…" His lips brush softly against hers as he whispers. Catherine smiles at his request, realizing the full import of what doing so means. She isn't with the assassin, the man called Connor. She's with Ratonhnhake:ton, the man who loves her and who she wants to be with no matter what the future holds for them.

"Ratonhnhake:ton…" He lifts his head off the ground and takes her mouth with his almost before she finishes saying his name. His arms hold her tightly to his chest and she never wants him to let go even if he crushes the breath out of her and she were to die because of it. Returning his kisses in kind, their ardor mounts to an unbearable high. With a gasp, Catherine presses on his shoulders and he lets her go. Sitting up, she raises up off his hips and he reaches down to guide himself to her once more. With her eyes tightly closed and her heart pounding with both her building need from his touch and a large scrap of her stubborn fear still hanging on tightly, she lingers, unmoving and once again finding herself standing at the edge of a precipice. She leans her hands on his chest, trying to clear her mind of all but what being with him like this means, rather than the memories that twist what she is feeling. Being in control of it all helps significantly. Connor patiently waits for her to make the first move. She knows he is watching her even as he moves both his hands to her arms. His whispered words reach her.

"Catherine… look at me." Slowly, she opens her eyes and lowers her face from the branches of the trees above them. Connor's stares back at her with an open expression on his face.

"You are with me… only me." he whispers to her. His hands slowly massage her arms and the longer she looks at his face the calmer she feels. His eyes drag her out of her mind and into the present moment.

With her calm comes a certainty in her mind that this is what she wants and she will have it. At the moment of her realization she lowers herself onto him. Connor lets out a deep, open mouthed exhale at her unexpected act and his chin tips up. When he lowers his face to look at her again, his eyes are partly lidded with pleasure and his breaths are short and fast, making his chest rise and fall quickly under her hands. Catherine searches for the pain and finds none. She experimentally moves her hips and watches the subtle changes that cross Connor's face. He maintains eye contact with her as his mouth twitches in pleasure and his eyes squint slightly as she moves. Lowering her body to lay on him, she kisses him and closes her eyes, letting her body relax completely. Relief fills her to overflowing and she clings to his shoulders, feeling as if a terrible weight has been taken from her. Connor strokes his hands up her sides and over her back, crossing them over her shoulders and up into her hair. She feels the moment he bends his knees and moves his hips slightly. It is just the amount of encouragement she needs and she slowly lifts her lips from his and starts to move her body. He extracts his hands from her hair and places one on her hip and the other on the side of her chest.

Catherine moves slowly until she feels her sensations building up once more until they want to burst at the seams. She moves faster and Connor makes a noise below her. His hand closes tighter on her leg and he starts to move with her. Waves of pleasure course through her, much deeper than when he had used his fingers on her, and she cries out with her enjoyment. Connor reaches up and takes her breasts in his hands, squinting up at her. His touch is light, much too light, and Catherine clasps her hands over his and presses them against her. At last, the wave that had been building in her crests and she collapses forward onto his chest, still clutching his hands. When she catches her breath she delves her fingers into Connor's hair, most of it falling completely out of his ponytail and hanging over her hands. She kisses him everywhere she can reach: his collar bones, neck, chin, lips, and earlobe. He laughs at her frantic behavior and tries to return her kisses but misses several times. He gives up and just accepts her little gifts of happiness.

"Oh, I can't get enough of you; I want more and more! Please!" she cries and Connor is happy to oblige. He has dreamed of giving her this and seeing her so hungry for it is unreal. Wrapping his arms around her, he rolls them both over so he is above her. Long sections of his hair fall forward and partially obscure his view of her as her hands drop to his shoulders. Nothing but trust and drunken, sexual pleasure are on her face and in her lidded eyes. Catherine sighs and closes her eyes, her head turning to the side as her hands fall from his arms and lie over her head, fully relaxed. As he moves, he lowers his mouth to her neck and lavishes it with attention, making Catherine moan and arch upwards. He wants to make this last as long as possible but despite his best efforts he feels his body breaking free of his restraint and he doesn't want to stop long enough to control it.

Catherine is overwhelmed by the way she feels. She can barely form thoughts at all and she is surrounded by a fog of blissful sensations that traverse her body, making her feel as if she is relaxed and tense at the same time. Every movement they make together is ecstasy and somehow it keeps going on. Connor's breathing is getting irregular and Catherine needs to hold onto something so she reaches up to grasp the backs of his arms. She squeezes her eyes shut and from somewhere a broken, high pitched noise fills her ears. When she realizes it is coming from her it deteriorates into sobbing gasps as tension builds in her body to an apex of heightened pleasure so strong it becomes agonizing. She tumbles past the boundaries of her prevailing need, trying to hold it inside and make it last, wrapping her legs around Connor's waist and clinging to his arms with all her strength.

Connor's rests his weight on his forearms and breathes heavily. As he comes down from his pleasure, he becomes aware of Catherine's fingers digging into his shoulders and her legs wrapped tightly around his hips. She collapses onto the grass when it is over and lies almost unconscious beneath him, a few curls stuck to her neck in the fine sheen of sweat that covers her body, and her breathing is hoarse and ragged.

Catherine wonders if she will ever be able to move again. Her body is so spent from what she just experienced that she can do nothing but lay there and try to process what just took place. When she finally opens her eyes, Connor is looking down at her, his face only inches from hers. His expression is soft and loving and his eyes are dark with satisfaction. With some effort, Catherine lifts her right hand from where it had fallen beside his arm and moves a section of his tousled hair out of the way to touch his cheek. She slides his braid up and tucks it behind his ear and he smiles at her, lowers his face down and kisses her slowly. She knows with certainty that she can never leave his side now. He is the only person she will every truly love and he has given her a gift of immeasurable value: her freedom. Not only had he freed her from her captors, he had freed her mind as well. She is grateful for the way Connor had led her to this point. He has given her all of his love in every way, knowing she could only take small steps yet never hurrying her.

In a sudden rush of emotional upheaval, Catherine finds herself clinging to Connor once more. He lowers his face from her lips and tenderly kisses the corner of her neck and shoulder as she clutches him and tries not to cry. The moment passes and she sighs in relief, feeling weaker than ever. Connor slowly disengages himself to sit back. His absence is an aching loss but he lies on his right side and gathers her up against him, softly smoothing her hair back from her face and neck. He runs his fingers down her arm, raising shivery bumps on her skin in their wake. It isn't necessary for him to speak for Catherine to know what he is thinking; his eyes are telling her everything he wants to say. Catherine isn't so sure she has the same talent.

"Ratonhnhake:ton…" She almost says, "Connor," but at the last instant corrects herself, knowing it is only with his Kanien'keha:ka name that she speaks to the man he truly is. His face fills her view as she whispers the words she has wanted to say for weeks.

"I love you." His response surprises her.

"I know. And I have loved you for much longer." His words pierce her deeply. She too has known that he has loved her since almost the beginning. His simple statement burrows into her chest, a blade of truth in her heart that she welcomes and closes her skin and bones over to cherish forever.

***Many thanks to Nenoka for seeing what I could not with this chapter.***


	18. Chapter 18

Bound

"I would marry both of you but it would be a scandal and Ratonhnhake:ton would kill me in my sleep!" Sonehso:wa laughs as he comes across Catherine and Anika sitting on their sleeping area working on something. He had overheard them discussing whether Catherine could stand beside Anika during the wedding ceremony as he got closer to them inside the longhouse. They had been so absorbed in what they were working on that they had not noticed his approach. Anika squeaks and drags a nearby fur over her lap, covering what looks to be a clothing item and Catherine stands up to bar his path.

"What ever in the world do you mean, 'marry both of us?'" She crosses her arms over her chest and glowers at him where he stands facing her, smiling widely in his usual way. Her fingers rest against a woven arm band that is tied around her left arm over a somewhat wider piece of pale, blueish purple fabric, dyed in a solution made of crushed shells from the river. Since the weather had gotten warmer and she had stopped wearing her long sleeved shirt and only wore her hide one with either a soft wrapped hide skirt or her pants, she had embraced the fashion so many women in the village wear. Sonehso:wa smirks at her challenging stance and explains.

"If you are standing with Anika before the clans it would look like I am marrying you both." He spreads his hands out toward Catherine in a careless gesture.

"I would not refuse if two beautiful women want to marry me…"

"Sonehso:wa!" Anika cries from where she is hastily shoving her project into a corner under some furs. Catherine smiles at Sonehso:wa's devilish grin and shakes her head at him, trying desperately not to laugh.

"You couldn't handle both of us…" she breaks into a laugh at the end and Sonehso:wa raises his eyebrows at her.

"No? You do not think I could?" He moves quickly, looping his arm around Catherine's waist and picking her up before spinning and falling backwards onto the bed beside Anika with Catherine on top of him. He scoops Anika in his other arm, pulling her down as he lays back and starts kissing her neck while keeping Catherine from escaping his grasp. Catherine screams in scandalized laughter, kicking her feet, and Anika joins in when Sonehso:wa starts making exaggerated, hungry noises against her neck. He keeps his hold on Catherine as she struggles half on his lap and delivers light punches to his chest, still laughing as Anika is reduced to only half-heartedly resisting his smiling kisses. Finally, he lets go of Catherine and she crawls away to kneel beside him. Sonehso:wa rolls over and takes Anika in his arms completely, only pausing his kisses long enough to admit defeat.

"I suppose one of you is enough!"

"Thank goodness! I was starting to feel neglected." Catherine huffs sarcastically but leaps off the bed with a squeal when Sonehso:wa blindly reaches back toward her as if to pull her close again.

"You're a positively insufferable man!" Catherine laughs over her shoulder as she snatches Anika's project and retreats to the other side of their section to stash it on the shelf.

"He's a buffoon!" Anika barely manages to shriek before disintegrating into delighted giggling.

"Mmm. A buffoon. Yes." He mumbles against Anika's cheek. Anika laughs at him with her chin tipped back, both of her hands clutching his arm where it crosses her stomach. Catherine can't help but smile at how happy they are together and she leaves them to their silliness. They can barely contain themselves and Catherine is almost relieved that the wedding is only a day away. She is looking forward to giving her best friend the white outfit she and Ori:te'hiyo had been working on. They had spent hours perfecting and reworking the beading and embroidery that adorns it until finally they had to just fold it up and leave it alone. Anika only has a few more details to complete before the shirt she is making for Sonehso:wa will be done.

It is early May and finally, the air is beginning to warm up and the new, green growth of spring is starting to color the trees and brighten the landscape. Catherine smiles as she walks west along the river and curls her toes in the sand along the bank. Her feet had gotten used to not wearing shoes and she now prefers being barefoot, even when most of the women wear moccasins made from woven corn husks. There is something about feeling the subtle changes of the earth beneath her feet that she finds pleasant. She hears her name being called and spots Raonraon and Tsihskoko over by one of the longhouses. Calling out a traditional greeting, she waves and continues walking. The girls are no longer obligated to accompany her and Anika so they had returned to their usual habits, though often they will spend time together just for fun or to continue lessons in the Kanien'keha language.

Beyond the palisade, Catherine dons her moccasins to enter the woods where the ground is littered with fallen acorns, pinecones and small branches that are less comfortable to walk upon. She finds her chestnut horse grazing on some clumps of tender new grass that had sprung up and decides to go for a ride. She uses a nearby rock to clamber up onto the horse's back and encourages him to trot. The air is aromatic with the piney, mulchy freshness of spring and the sweet, grassy smell that indicates the beginnings of real summer heat to come. Catherine breathes it in deeply like a panacea.

The sounds of a game of tewa'a:raton being played carry from over a hill and Catherine rides up it to watch from above. It is mostly teenaged boys playing, with a few of the younger adult men thrown in. Many of the older men and some women are sitting on the sides watching and cheering for the players. The teams are well-matched and each score won is a true battle. After watching for sometime, Catherine moves in a wide radius to circle around where the game is being played so as to not interrupt their fun. Beyond where they play is an area of open, almost treeless rolling hills and Catherine spurs the chestnut to gallop across it. The animal is as eager as she to taste the air deep in his lungs and quickly reaches his top speed, his legs stretching and his hooves beating the earth. The wind in Catherine's face is exhilarating and she laughs, the sound taken from her lips and lost behind her. Her knees are tight to the sides of the horse and she holds on to his mane with both hands, leaning forward and moving as one with his pace. She turns the chestnut in a wide arc to head back to the village and only when she nears the final crest before the trees does she slow the animal. He tosses his head and blows loudly through his nostrils, his sides heaving from the exercise. Catherine chirps at him with loving nonsense words and praises him for his speed and strength, scratching under his mane and making him whinny. He always responds in seeming happiness to her voice and touch and Catherine takes supreme enjoyment from it, sure he understands every word she speaks. For a moment she feels a pang of sadness, remembering how her sleek, dark brown mare in New York would behave similarly, stamping eagerly whenever she would enter the stable. There is nothing to be done about that so she takes a southerly track through the forest on her way to the river, intending to follow it back to the village. Near the edge of the water a few men are fishing and one of them waves her over as she comes into sight.

It is Teiowi:sonte, the somewhat deceptively stout looking older brother of blue-eyed Kahionhatenion who had met them at the outskirts of the village when they had all arrived a month ago. Despite his overweight appearance, he is extremely strong and always willing to lend his muscle to a task that requires the strength of many men. Catherine has witnessed him drag a submerged canoe from beneath the rushing waters of the river by himself; a task that would have taken two or three average men to do. He is known to put a hand print over his face that covers his chin and mouth whenever he will be hunting or doing anything outside the confines of the village palisade. Today is no exception. He wears the mark as often as a military man would embellish his uniform with the emblems of his rank. Catherine wishes to ask him why he has chosen a hand print and that location for it but fears it would be a gross deviation from propriety to inquire about such a personal choice. Teiowi:sonte is a soft spoken man and very friendly. He treats her like a little sister even though they are of a similar age, spontaneously calling her by her father's nickname after he heard Connor refer to her as WildCat. It immediately endeared him to her so she would hate to make things awkward between them. She resolves to ask Connor about it sometime.

"Little Cat! It is always a good thing to see you!" He grins up at Catherine and she reaches down to take his raised hand after waving at the other men.

"It's good to see you, too." She says with a smile.

"Ratonhnhake:ton said if I saw you to tell you to look for him at the coop. He would not say what it is about." Though his casual words imply ignorance, Catherine gets the impression he knows exactly what it is about. His eyes sparkle and his smile, hidden by the darkness of his face paint, gives away his knowledge.

"Thank you. I'll go there now." Catherine narrows her eyes at him as she takes her hand back. His smile widens to a toothy, sheepish grin and he runs his fingers over his mostly bald head. As she rides along the river, he watches her from the bank with a quirky smile on his face. She has seen Connor and he, along with Sonehso:wa and Kahionhatenion when they have had time to spend together as friends, laughing and horsing around like oversized teenagers. Once, they all seemed to be participating in a comical joust with the sticks used for their ball games, delivering blows to each other in a pretense of fencing that had soon devolved into a free-for-all against Connor's greater skill. They had been raucous with laughter, taunts and shouting, even when Connor managed to disarm them or knock them down. Only when the three other men worked together in a somewhat sneaky attack did they succeed in unbalancing him. It seems the four of them are rather close, and it makes Catherine happy to see Connor so content, even when he bears marks on his body from both his playful and serious practice sessions of combat.

Almost every day, Connor is out with one or more of his friends and other men of the tribe, going over combat techniques and engaging in extremely intense sessions that make what he had taught Catherine at the hunting cabin look like he was playing gently with a baby. The combatants hit each other hard with their blunted weapons or fists, eliciting real reactions of pain sometimes. If Connor had hit her like that he would have broken her bones. Despite the resulting bruises and scratches from his fights, Catherine says nothing of it, knowing this is probably what he always does to keep himself and the other men in shape. She accepts it as a necessary part of his lifestyle. What kind of Assassin would he be if he is unable to best his opponents in a fight?

Sonehso:wa had said from the beginning that he is an exceptional fighter and watching him flip men as big as he is over his shoulder and drop them on the ground with relative ease drives the truth of his words home rather directly. He fights like no one she has ever seen before. His moves have a heavy brutality to them that are unlike the dance-like motions of the swordplay Catherine had seen Francisco participate in or in the pugilist competitions at festivals. While Connor's attacks are fluid and smooth, they have crushing power. With all his weight behind them and incorporating elbows, kicks and tackles to take down his opponents, he only avoids dealing mortal wounds to his friends through the use of careful restraint and tactical adjustments at the right moments. Every time Connor defeats a man, he helps him to his feet and explains to him what he can do differently in the future, even practicing the moves that would have blocked his attacks and going over them slowly until it is clear. Even with bloodied noses, cuts or broken skin on their knuckles, the men always end up laughing with Connor or showing some other sign of camaraderie afterwards.

Only rarely would Connor actually take a hit hard enough to draw blood and Catherine had learned not to show her shock in public, instead, making a display of stoic approval for his endurance and fortitude. The first time she had seen him get cut with a weapon she had gasped and covered her mouth with her hands. Sonehso:wa had almost knocked her to the ground in an effort to subdue her horror, quickly taking her wrists, blocking her approach to Connor and keeping her face hidden from the others present with his body while whispering to her not to cry out or weep. He had taken her tightly by the arm and led her rapidly out of sight to where Anika was washing some items in the river. There, he reiterated to her the reason why warriors of the Haudenosaunee, and particularly the Kanien'keha:ka, are feared by their rivals. They show no mercy, no tolerance for weakness and the women uphold that standard even more rigorously than the men. Catherine had cried then, only briefly, not seeing the look Anika and Sonehso:wa had shared over her head as he hugged her and she tried to regain control of herself. Anika had come over and lent her empathy to Catherine, telling her of some of the things she and Sonehso:wa had discussed in their private conversations. He had prepared her better for what she would see, which is why she chose to find other things to do while the men practiced, knowing she could not bear to see the man she loves getting hurt, even if it is in willing participation. After that Catherine still watched Connor's skirmishes, though from a distance so she could leave if it became too upsetting to see. He would always find her afterwards and kiss the top of her head in a comforting way, as if it had become a silent message telling her that he is well.

Since they had arrived at the village, Connor appears to be the most at ease for extended periods of time as Catherine had ever seen him. It seems that when he is among his people, his other life fades a little further into the background and weighs just a little less heavily on his shoulders. In the weeks following their landmark tryst in the woods, he had lost even more of the tension that would cloud his features from time to time. The few instances they had found since to meet as lovers had only served to reinforce that they had truly defeated Catherine's past and neither of them had reason to hesitate or worry. However, at times when Connor thinks no one is watching, the lines that surround his mouth and eyes return and he frowns down at his clasped hands or stares off toward the East. His sense of duty drags on him and each time Catherine sees him like that something breaks loose in her heart. Every day brings them a step closer to a time when they will have to leave. His open training bouts are a constant reminder of his other life and the dwindling time they have remaining in the village.

For the first time in her life, Catherine feels as if she is a part of something greater. She has had time to look back and reflect on the empty nature of her life before and compare it to who she is now. In New York, she had flitted from event to event, barely thinking about what it takes to create a meaningful life for one's self. Here, she is a cog in a machine, working hard to perpetuate the prosperity of this little village and finding a sense of satisfaction and fulfillment she had never before experienced. Her past is a hollow drum now, capable only of tapping out a half-remembered, one-note cadence that is almost lost under the vibrant and busy lifestyle she has taken on. Village life is healing to her heart and she recognizes now why Connor had originally asked her to stay here when he leaves. He has experienced this peaceful life and knows the value of it. Yet the thought of him being gone, leaving her behind after they have come through so much together, makes Catherine jittery and anxious. She couldn't do it no matter how much she loves this place and the people in it.

The coop comes into sight and Catherine dismounts to lead her horse over to it. Connor isn't there. She stands on tiptoe and looks inside at the contentedly cooing birds, her undying fascination for their homing capabilities making her feel like a young, country girl still learning her way. A few scattered acorns are easy to gather and she breaks their hard shells between two rocks, separating the soft nut from inside to drop into the coop for the birds. She kisses to them as they peck at their snack and then pats the chestnut horse's long face, getting his typical nudge on her shoulder for her affection. Kicking off her moccasins, she takes a seat with her back to a tree to wait for Connor.

A whirring noise followed by the distinctive thunk of an arrow hitting a nearby tree makes her look up with a jump. An arrow fletched with white feathers is buried in the tree next to her and Catherine lets out a belated scream of shock when she sees it. She scrambles over and ducks behind the largest tree nearby, dragging the horse with her by a fistful of his mane. The area is silent; even the pigeons are quiet, and the branches of the trees are motionless, as if holding their breath along with Catherine. When nothing else happens, Catherine peeks her head out from behind the tree only to see Connor standing in front of a large, easily climbable tree holding the weapon partly behind his body. He is dressed in his usual long pants and boots and a short sleeved tunic that leaves his tanned arms bare almost to his shoulders.

Catherine steps out from behind the tree, pushing the horse aside, and stands with her arms crossed in a show of indignant exasperation for the second time in one day. Despite her rapidly beating heart she knows she wasn't in any real danger with Connor operating the bow. Having witnessed his prowess with the weapon before, she has no doubt he would never have hit her but part of her is still suspicious of his sassy grin that is far too similar to Sonehso:wa's crafty ones for her liking. Connor strides toward her and she narrows her eyes and waits until he is almost to her before speaking.

"You frightened me!" Her voice sounds petulant and Connor grins wider at her exclamation. He leans down and kisses her frowning mouth.

"You are so attractive when you are angry."

"Ratonhnhake:ton!" she huffs, frustrated that she can't win in this situation, apparently.

"I'm not angry." She mumbles, a small smile attempting to sneak across her mouth.

"Yes, you are." Connor laughs, as Catherine bends to pick up one of her discarded moccasins. She changes the subject as she looks around for the other slipper.

"Teiowi:sonte said you wanted to meet me here. Was it just some ruse to use me as target practice?" Connor steps back and slides her other moccasin toward her with the toe of his boot. Catherine bends to pick it up and he steps on it so she has to tug it free. Her face falls as she puts it on and she tilts her head to the side with a pronounced sigh as she looks up at him, irritated. When she is upright again, she recrosses her arms and looks at him with narrowed eyes and her lips pressed together, attempting to hold onto a modicum of her irritation before it quickly slips through her grasp. Connor's eyes are so full of childlike excitement that she finally throws up her hands and shakes her head, letting her smile free.

"What are you so smug about, then? You're awfully mischievous today." she cries.

"I wanted to give you this." He brings his arm out from behind his back and offers her the bow he had been holding. It is only slightly shorter than his, which Catherine notices is on his back, as well as a second quiver full of white-fletched arrows, identical to the one in the tree nearby.

"Oh!" She breathes as she takes the bow in her hand, all her exasperation leaving her as she examines the weapon with unconcealed awe. The wood is smooth and unblemished, such a pale golden color it's nearly white. The arms are slender, almost feminine in structure, and curve gracefully from the wider center to the narrow ends. It gleams in the light as if it had just been polished to a high gloss an hour earlier. The grip is wrapped in white twine and the bow's arms bear additional decorative wrappings. It is the spaces in between that catch Catherine's eyes the most. A depiction of a running wildcat is burned onto the wood of each arm in sweeping, sparse lines. They appear to be running up the arms toward the middle of the bow, their legs stretched in a full run or leap and their long tails are almost straight out behind them. They are lean and fast creatures and the artist had captured that perfectly with an uncomplicated and minimalist's eye.

"This… It's beautiful! Did you do this?" She traces her fingers over the design, feeling the shallow grooves that had been carved first before the lines had been scorched and blackened. Connor smiles at her approval.

"I did not make the cats. I have no skill with that sort of thing. The bow is my creation though. I wanted to make something smaller and lighter for you that you can use with ease. Gaiachoton helped me make it. He suggested I design it after a young boy's bow, for use before he is a strong hunter, but made from the same wood as a man's bow for strength and durability. Do you like it?"

"I love it! I never thought I'd have something like this."

"You have earned it." He takes off the smaller quiver, which also bears a simple outline of a wildcat on it, and loops it over her head, crossing the strap over her chest and tying it on the bottom so it fits her tightly enough to stay in place. Catherine reaches over her shoulder and flaps her right hand over empty air before she locates the arrows. She takes the end of one and pulls it slowly upward until the tip clears the quiver and she can bring it down to look at it. The arrows, too, are shorter and more slender than Connor's. They are noticeably lighter and even the white feathers and flint arrow heads are smaller. Both the bow and arrows are almost dainty compared to Connor's equipment.

"You will have to get used to everything again. This bow will never be able to shoot as far as mine is designed to but you will be able to shoot farther than you have been because it is easier to draw. These arrows are lighter so they will fly far but they will lose some distance compared to mine because they are shorter. I am certain the combination will be fitting for your size and strength." Catherine is speechless. No one had ever put so much thought and effort into a gift for her. How long had he spent working on this and thinking about how to amplify her strengths and downplay her weaknesses? Not only is it a weapon but it's a piece of art! The wildcats are a perfect finishing touch and make it truly hers. Catherine is touched by what Connor has done. She looks up at him and carefully hugs him while holding the bow and arrow in her hands.

"Thank you." Catherine says into his chest. Connor squeezes her tightly and then moves her back by her shoulders and gestures out toward the trees.

"Try it." Catherine takes aim at a tree not too far away and exclaims at the difference in the draw. She is able to pull the string much farther than Connor's bow and it feels strange, yet extremely natural. Despite the ease at which she can pull the string, there is still a lot of room for growth as she continues to build up her strength. To her surprise, she hits the tree she was aiming for but much higher up than she had been anticipating. Her arrow had flown straighter and farther than she had expected so she selects a more distant target to aim for next. The arrow hits that with a satisfying thunk, very close to where she had wanted it to. Taking aim at a much father target, she pulls as hard as she can on the string. The arrow falls short but Catherine is confident that with practice and greater strength she will be able to reach distant targets with ease.

Elated, she turns to Connor and throws her arms around his neck with a squeal of happiness, still holding the bow. He returns her embrace with a surprised rumble and kisses her head.

"It's perfect! I love it!" she whispers into his ear before kissing the side of his neck. He squeezes her tightly and relinquishes his hold on her. Taking his bow off his back, he demonstrates how to unstring it. The two bows are the same design so Catherine braces hers against her leg the same way to bend it and unhook the string. She has to use considerable effort to do it but she manages to unstring and restring it several times until Connor is happy with her technique.

Catherine hooks the bow over her body, running her thumb underneath the string where it crosses her chest from her sternum down to her abdomen. Connor shows her how he quickly removes his bow from its place with a circular motion of his wrist against one of the arms. Catherine's bow insists on tangling in her curls so they give up practicing that until another time when she is wearing her hair in braids. Together, they walk from tree to tree so Catherine can retrieve her arrows. She laughs with embarrassment when she misses her quiver and drops one on the ground behind her. Connor picks it up and waits for Catherine to turn and face him before reaching around her and dropping it into its place. He moves closer and crowds her in towards a tree until her back is against it. Instinctively, Catherine reaches up to him.

Connor touches his body against hers as they kiss. Their passion rapidly rises to a burning heat and they become breathless and drunk on each other's kisses. The soft, gentle kisses they had started with become deep and almost bruising in their ferocity. Wanting more, Connor runs his hands over Catherine's sides and then down to her hips. Her fingers tighten in a handful of his hair and she pulls on it so hard he wonders for a moment if she will actually tear some of it out. Such passionate aggression from her increases the intensity of his amorous enthusiasm. She gasps in a satisfying way when he pulls her against him with his hands on her bottom. Catherine slides her hands down the front of Connor's chest and together they fumble at each other's pant laces until Connor can tug Catherine's pants down her legs. She had kicked off her slippers in their frenzied efforts. Connor picks her up and presses her back against the tree, prompting Catherine to wrap her legs around him.

The tree is hard behind her and the quiver and bow crossing her body are uncomfortable against her back but Catherine doesn't care. She kisses Connor and clutches at his shoulders with a fervor that borders on desperation. His warm, broken breaths are incredibly arousing and Catherine feeds on them like a starving person. She rests her head back against the tree and Connor takes advantage of her posture to taste the soft skin of her neck. He trails his tongue along her throat, punctuating his ardor with soft kisses and subtle grazes of his teeth. Within moments, she comes to a shuddering climax with a suddenness that takes them both by surprise.

Catherine's quick and unexpected peak accelerates Connor's urgency and he finds his release shortly afterwards. He kisses her slowly and softly when it is over, not wanting their liaison to end so soon, but Catherine untangles her legs from him and he lowers her to the ground. She is slightly unsteady on her feet and she holds onto his arms with a low, breathless laugh that fans the flames of his desire.

"Two gifts in one day… you spoil me far too much!" She looks over her shoulder at him as she bends to pick up her pants and turn them right side out.

"I would give you more but you are in a rush to get dressed." His voice is disapproving but his eyes caress her exposed buttocks and legs, their smooth curves inviting and teasing him mercilessly as he reties his laces over himself. He moves closer behind her and takes her around her waist as she stands to pull her pants up. His right hand wanders to the opened front of her pants and starts to slide downwards as he brushes his lips against the side of her head. Catherine sighs regretfully and turns her face into his exploring kisses.

"If I could, I would stay here with you for hours but I can't. I really should get back to Anika. We need to finish that shirt for Sonehso:wa today. There won't be time for it tomorrow." Connor bemoans her willpower and retracts his hand from her pants, giving her a gentle smack on her bottom.

"Very well. I know better than to get between women and their wedding plans." Catherine ties her laces hastily before turning and reaching to Connor's arms. She slowly runs her hands up their dark, muscled length and then slides them over his shoulders and up his neck to his face. He leans into her kiss and pulls her close, making one last attempt to convince her to stay. Catherine bites his bottom lip just before pulling away. She cocks an eyebrow at him meaningfully and then deliberately turns around and walks toward the chestnut. After he has helped her onto her horse, Connor smiles at her feisty transformation and watches her ride away at a canter towards the village. The bow and quiver on her back are perfect for her wild ways and his smile turns into a self satisfied smirk at his accomplishment and the extra fun that had spontaneously developed from giving it to her. The white feathers of the last arrow she shot catch his eye. It had been forgotten when they had become so distracted by each other. Picking it up, he drops it into his quiver and starts to walk back to the village.

Anika is nervous and the hours grow late as she and Catherine sit together with their backs against the side wall of the longhouse, whispering in the darkness. Everyone around them had fallen asleep long ago and only the occasional sounds of a nocturnal animal outside or a quiet mutter or snore from a sleeping person inside breaks the quiet monotony of the night.

"Do you think I'm making the right decision?" Anika asks, staring up at the shelf above their heads, her hand tightening in Catherine's.

"I think you are. Sonehso:wa loves you and unless I somehow don't know you as well as I thought, you love him just as much."

"It's just that… he's been with some of the other women here. It's… socially acceptable, though not necessarily outright encouraged, to have casual sexual relations with people you aren't married or committed to."

"Ani, if that's their culture, how can you expect him to have behaved differently than what he knows before he met you? Ratonhnhake:ton's no virgin, either. He was with a woman Assassin from New York before but I don't care. Sonehso:wa is probably one of the best looking men here and the object of many women's interest. Even I can't help looking at him and I don't have any interest in bedding him!" Anika laughs quietly and sighs.

"I guess I'm not so worried about him. He never hid that I wasn't his first. It's the other women I worry about. Will they treat me differently because I'm the one who finally got him?"

"Do you have any reason to think they will?"

"There are two women who are very cold towards me. I suspect it's because they have lain with Sonehso:wa and feel more for him than a passing lust."

"Who cares? They'll have to accept that he's made his choice and it isn't either of them. It may not be that, you know."

"What do you mean? It has to be that."

"No. It could be simply because you're so pretty. Ani, I'm so grateful to have you in my life and I love you with all my heart yet even with how long I've known you, I've found myself jealous of your beauty and self conscious in your presence many times. You draw eyes to you wherever you go and I'm just a plain, brown mouse beside you."

"What? That's nonsense, Cat! I've dreamed of looking like you for years!"

"What ever for? You're the one with the body men want and the face of an angel."

"And a crooked smile and hair that won't ever be anything other than straight as a pin. It isn't always good to have people… men… looking at you all the time, you know. I don't like it. Sometimes it's flattering but most of the time it's not. It would be nice to be able to walk around and not stand out." Catherine laughs out loud before catching herself and covering her mouth.

"Well that will never happen. Especially not here, where we are both white and have light eyes… and you and your blonde hair." She touches her disobedient curls and finishes her thought.

"But you don't want this mess, I can assure you. These curls… they're the bane of my existence. Besides, none of that matters. Sonehso:wa likes you for more than your appearance or hair, though I do see him touching it all the time. I swear he thinks you're that corn spirit." It's Anika's turn to cover her mouth to hold in her laughter. They sit quietly shoulder to shoulder for some time.

"Cat…"

"Hmm?"

"Will you be alright when Sonehso:wa comes here to live with us?"

"I'll be fine."

"Be honest with me."

"I am. I admit it will be hard to sleep alone but it won't be for a terribly long time."

"Cat! Have you finally decided to marry that poor, smitten man?"

"Maybe… yes. There's really no reason not to. My silly, cynical heart likes to try to take control but I know what we feel for each other is true and real. Not like what I thought I had with Francisco. Nothing like that."

"Oh! Hell has frozen over!" Anika nearly falls over laughing and Catherine pinches the inside of her elbow.

"Ow! You'll leave a mark!"

"It would serve you right."

"Well, I'm glad you've decided to let Ratonhnhake:ton be your husband. He would do anything for you. I hope you appreciate that."

"I do, Ani." Catherine kisses her friend's cheek and draws her down next to her on the sleeping area.

"We should sleep. You have an exciting day tomorrow and you have to look your best. It wouldn't do for one of the most handsome men in the village to be marrying a woman with bags under her eyes."

"Look at these lazy bears! Wolves never sleep so late!" Ori:te'hiyo scolds with a laugh as she walks over to where Anika and Catherine are just waking up. From the look of the light outside, it is only just past sunrise. Not exactly a late morning in the women's opinions. Katsi'tenhiyo is carrying a large basket and she seems more docile than usual. She slides the basket onto the empty sleeping area across from the two women and sits down next to it. Only the day before, Anika had watched as Ori:te'hiyo had flung a bowlful of cold water onto her daughter after she had made a saucy quip to one of her requests. The child had immediately become contrite and had complied with her mother's request, shamefaced and only barely holding in her tears. Her clothing had stayed wet for some time afterwards and she had run from the sight of the elder members of the tribe whenever she saw them looking at her with disapproval. It seems she had learned from her rather public and embarrassing punishment and was making an effort to prove that she is a well behaved child.

"I wanted to bring this for you before your clan starts to ready you for the ceremony. Catherine and I worked on it for you. I hope you like it." Ori:te'hiyo nods to her daughter and she lifts the cover of the basket and takes out two items. She crosses the distance to stand in front of Anika where she sits with her feet hanging off the side of the platform. The girl presents the outfit to Anika in her raised arms.

"It is made of rabbit fur." Anika takes the top item, a long tunic, and stands up to hold it against herself. She runs her hand down the soft fur that adorns the shoulders, extends down in a vee over the bust and touches the complex embroidery and beaded patterns making up the bear design over the front of it. The embroidered area is a large diamond shape, wider than it is tall, with its sides narrowing at the waist line. The top point rests just below her bust and the bottom one reaches down to below her navel. It almost resembles a wide belt or a narrow corset. The beaded area is in the center of the diamond, with the bear inside that. Anika takes the other item from the girl. It is a matching pair of white hide leggings with green embroidery up the sides and framing where they split at the front of her ankles.

"They're beautiful! I don't know what to say! Thank you both." She smiles at Catherine where she sits beside her and then over at Ori:te'hiyo. Katsi'tenhiyo looks up and speaks to Anika.

"I made these for your feet." The girl reaches into a fold of her tunic and produces the beaded moccasin tops she had been working on. Anika lowers the rabbit fur items to the bed and kneels down to take the moccasin tops from the child.

"Thank you, Katsi'tenhiyo. I'm honored to wear them. Maybe Cat will sew them onto my moccasins for me while I get dressed for today." The child looks into Anika's eyes for a long time, studying her. Slowly, she steps forward and Anika is surprised when she puts her arms around her neck in a hug. Anika hugs her back until the girl releases her.

"You can be my friend." Katsi'tenhiyo whispers before backing up and almost bumping into her mother. Anika smiles at the girl.

"I think we'll be very good friends." The girl turns and runs out of the longhouse, her braids bouncing on her back. Anika rises to her feet and faces Ori:te'hiyo.

"That was unexpected." Ori:te'hiyo smiles and shrugs her shoulders.

"I knew she would come to you. She is very close to Sonehso:wa. Sharing him is hard for her but she has to learn to do it. I am glad it is with you. I think it is why she has been so… difficult these past few days." Ori:te'hiyo embraces Anika and kisses her cheek with tender affection.

"I cannot stay to help you get ready. It is not my place as a Wolf. But know that I love you as a mother loves her daughter… and as I love Sonehso:wa." Anika trembles slightly from the woman's kind words.

"Thank you. For accepting me and for your many gifts. You will be a mother to me always, and a friend." The women step back from each other and smile.

"I must go. I will see you when you and my son marry." Her hand slips down Anika's arm and she squeezes her fingers lightly. When she is gone, Anika heaves a sigh.

"What an extraordinary woman! Her heart must be made completely of love and kindness. I wish more people were like her." Catherine gets up and takes Anika's hand.

"You're like her. That's why she loves you so much."

"Stop it, you'll make me cry!" Anika laughs.

The women of the Bear Clan gather to help Anika get ready, once again scrubbing her until she feels as if her skin will peel right off of her body. While they work on her, Catherine braids her own hair into two long plaits that hang down the front of her shoulders. She has gotten quite adept at working around her defiant curls and she is ready to take over when the women are done. She approaches her friend with the tiny remaining bit of soap Anika had originally brought with her from Albany and washes her reddened skin gently with it, making sure to lather her hair as well. The flowery perfume fills the air of the longhouse as the last particle of the bar dissolves in the water.

"Well, that's the end of an era…" Anika laments.

"It's worth it. Another new beginning. A good one!" Catherine rinses Anika's hair out and squeezes the excess water from it. She parts it into sections and dries it as much as possible with one of the cotton shifts they no longer wear. Twisting her hair into loose ropes, she winds each one up and pins it in place with the hair pins Anika had carefully saved after she and Sonehso:wa had fled Albany together. When her head is covered in a strange collection of twisted loops, she sits wrapped in a large fur in the sun coming in the end of the longhouse to let her hair dry. After what seems like an eternity, with Catherine checking the status of her hair several times, she is ready to get dressed. The women lead her to the center of the longhouse again and help her into her new white outfit. The tunic has no sleeves and it falls to just below her knees. Catherine laces her into it from the back, satisfied with how neatly it fits her body and admiring how small the dark, embroidered portion makes her waist look. The other women of the clan make comments about Anika's uniquely designed outfit and the way it fits the contours of her body. They all join the two women when they move to the well lit entrance of the longhouse to watch as Catherine takes out the pins holding Anika's hair up. It has dried into large waves and loose curls; Anika holds up one of the spirals and laughs.

"It looks like I'll have your curls after all!"

"Just this once!" Catherine carefully parts Anika's hair down the middle and draws it back from her face. She secures the curls with pins so they fall in a graceful golden cascade down her back. Tsihskoko and Raonraon eagerly wait for their opportunity to help deck Anika out in as much jewelry as they can. She is given a wooden armband and several bracelets made of wood, shell and woven cloth. Two necklaces are tied around her neck; one is made of shortened porcupine quills and is worn tight to her slender throat and one is loose and hangs down over her breasts, made of wide pieces of shell, wooden beads and clusters of glass beads threaded together. A few small baubles are tied into her curls and she is ready. Catherine holds out the moccasins embellished with Katsi'tenhiyo's beaded tops and Anika steps into them carefully.

"You look incredible!"

"I feel like one of those expensive, painted dolls imported from China…" Anika says rather haltingly.

"Good." Catherine walks to their shared section of the longhouse and takes down the basket containing Anika's gifts for Sonehso:wa.

"Ready?"

"No, but it's too late now, isn't it?" Anika whispers as the Bear Clan Mother and the Bear Chief beckon to Anika to accompany them to the Wolf longhouse. She takes the basket from Catherine and hugs her friend tightly.

"Go. We'll all be right behind you." Catherine reassures her. Anika walks out of the longhouse behind the dignified older man and elderly woman while the entire group of women who had helped her get ready, including Catherine, follow a short distance behind them. They are joined by the men of the Bear Clan and the entire entourage crosses the distance to the Wolf Clan longhouse. Many of the clan members have opted to wear their nicer clothing and most of the men, including the Chief of the Bear Clan, are wearing closely fitting feathered hats with three long feathers from a large bird pointed upwards in a fan shape. The bottom edge of the cap is beaded in a complex pattern and fits tightly on their heads. Both the Chief and the Clan Mother wear their most elaborate ceremonial attire, making for a colorful and festive atmosphere. Many of the Turtle Clan watch the procession with smiles of joy for another happy couple joining together. The members of the Bear Clan are welcomed at the door by the Wolf Clan Mother and the Wolf Chief and Anika is led inside by them. They, too, are dressed in their best.

Anika squints in the darkness inside and tries to make out the people she knows in the crowd. It seems like the entire Wolf Clan is present, both men and women, packed into the space beyond the second fireplace. Gaiachoton is wearing a feathered cap with a single large feather affixed straight up from his head. He stands with Ori:te'hiyo and their daughter on one side nearest the fireplace and Anika takes a breath of relief upon catching sight of them. Connor is nearby, standing with a few other men about his age. He nods at her when her eyes find him. Slowly, more faces she recognizes come into focus, yet her nerves refuse to settle. The members of the Bear Clan enter behind her and settle on the other side of the fireplace, leaving room for the two Clan Mothers and two Clan Chiefs to stand with Anika in between them. Suddenly Sonehso:wa appears from among the crowd and makes his way over to face Anika, carrying a basket of his own. He is dressed in white as well and he stands out like a beacon among the darker colors of those all around them. He, like his father, is wearing a cap with only one feather standing up from his head. Anika can't tear her eyes off of him. He wears no shirt; only white hide leggings with a traditional breechclout that hangs from his waist to almost his knees. The breechclout is dyed a deep yellow color and is decorated with many horizontal pieces of blackened bone or wood attached parallel to each other down the length of it. A white belt holds the breechclout on him and is beaded and embroidered with green and black deer. The color selection is no doubt a suggestion or creation of Ori:te'hiyo's, Anika muses with a smile.

Sonehso:wa's long hair shines in the firelight and in the light that comes in through the holes in the roof of the longhouse. He has many more feathers decorating it than usual and he wears a massive necklace that hangs down his bare chest. It is strung with whole shells of a freshwater mollusk and feathers dangle from it as well. His upper arms are both embellished with wide, gleaming metal armbands with some narrow sections of colorful string tied above and below each one. The long ends of the string dangle loosely from his arms and a feather is tied onto one of them on each side. Even more impressive and eye-catching than his regalia and jewelry is the white paint that decorates his skin. Diagonal lines of white zig-zag down his arms from his shoulders to his wrists and contrast with his dark skin. Two thick lines extend from the outer corners of his eyes and curve down the sides of his face and neck. Just above his collar bones, they start to curve inward, crossing over his chest and ending in a point near the bottom of his sternum. A third line of white runs vertically down his face from the center of his hairline, over his nose, lips, chin and neck and stops just above the point formed by the other lines. Two shorter lines extend at an angle from his cheek bones and meet the lines that mark the sides of his face. They remind Anika of the antlers of a deer.

When the couple stands facing each other in front of the large fire pit that separates the two clans, the Bear Chief raises both his arms in the air. The people immediately become hushed as they wait for the wedding to start. Sonehso:wa's face is smooth and serious as he looks at Anika, but his eyes shine and the corners of them crinkle in the tiniest hint of a smile. The Bear Clan Chief makes a speech to all in attendance. He speaks in English for Anika's benefit and she bows her head, grateful for his kindness in acknowledging her lack of fluency in the Kanien'keha language. Though she doesn't know him as well as the Bear Clan Mother, he had always been kind and welcoming to her and Catherine, spending time on occasion to make sure they were comfortable and exchanging pleasantries and idle talk with them.

Anika finds it difficult to concentrate on the Bear Chief's words. Her mind is reeling and spinning as she stands before so many people, more than when she and Catherine were adopted. Sonehso:wa is breathing deeply and she locks her eyes on his chest and watches the subtle movements of the large shells and wooden beads as they shift with each of his breaths. Her own breathing feels restricted by the fitted garment she wears and the tight necklace that is tied around her throat. As her nerves continue to make her body tense and her heart race, she follows Sonehso:wa's necklace up until her vision switches to the lines of white paint on his skin. She moves along the center line and stares at his throat, the curve of his chin and upwards to his lips, finally settling on his dark eyes. An extremely thin sliver of white is drawn along his bottom eyelids, making his eyes look even blacker. His steady gaze is like a rush of cool air through the longhouse and Anika uses it to strengthen her resolve and settle her nerves.

At last the Bear Chief finishes his oration and it is time for the giving of their gifts to each other. Anika and Sonehso:wa kneel and exchange their baskets. Inside the one Sonehso:wa has given Anika is a newly made knife with a metal blade, two white fox pelts with their black tipped tails and the massive teeth and claws from a large, predatory animal. His gifts show that he is capable of providing tools, hides, food and protection to Anika and any children she bears.

Sonehso:wa smiles at Anika when she raises her head to look at him. She returns it and gives him a small nod to open his basket. He does and lifts out the shirt she had been working on for weeks. It is a black hide shirt and she had spent endless hours constructing and embroidering it. The entire front of it is a depiction of a deer standing in profile on a background of a fiery sun. The only bead she had used was a single jet black one for the eye of the animal. Everything else is embroidered with dyed thread and thin strips of hide. The bottom edge of the shirt and along the undersides of the arms are tassels and porcupine quills that dangle down, with a few small feathers tied on for extra effect. Anika is quite proud of her handiwork and knows it represents her ability to clothe both of them with well made and beautiful things. Also in the basket are some ears of corn, dried beans and strips of cloth bandages to demonstrate her willingness to keep him and their family fed and healthy.

Sonehso:wa smirks at her inclusion of bandages and Anika almost laughs. She had occasionally prodded him about refusing to let her help after he had sustained his injuries in Albany and he never failed to attempt brushing them off as not worth the effort. He had continued to be indifferent when it came to any minor injuries he would sustain when training with Connor and Anika had found it to be one of the few points of contention they had together. Her presentation of the bandages was something she had mulled over for some time and she had finally decided to be unbending in her determination to continue giving him aid, no matter how unwilling he is about it.

They set their baskets to the side and Sonehso:wa takes Anika's hands to raise her to her feet. He wants to pick her up and kiss her, to delve his fingers deep into that cloud of golden curls that surrounds her, but absolutely no one would approve of that, especially not the elders. He does, however, whisper softly to her.

"Thank you, my beautiful wife…" Anika squeezes his hands, a radiant smile blooming on her face. She quickly lowers her head and looks at the floor as embarrassment starts to warm her neck and cheeks. Sonehso:wa seems so confident under the scrutiny of everyone present; he doesn't seem to care that his words, combined with the smoky darkness of his eyes, are laced with incredible intimacy. His fingers stroking her hands makes her look up again at him.

"My husband!" she whispers back with a sudden surge of boldness. Both of them quickly compose themselves when both the Clan Mothers and Chiefs turn to face them. Anika and Sonehso:wa separate and each go to the other's clan for ceremonial instruction on how to treat their new mate. The elders of each clan welcome the young people to them with open arms and move to the opposite ends of the longhouse for their discussions while the rest of the members of both clans exit to prepare for the feast and celebrations to follow. Though Gaiachoton is not nearly old enough to be considered an elder, he is included as the only member of Sonehso:wa's Onondowaga tribe there. He is given a place of precedence beside Anika and allowed to speak first on his tribe and clan's behalf. His lighthearted words and affectionate mannerisms are relaxing to listen to and Anika is grateful for his presence.

"You must be sure to let him win some arguments. Sometimes. He will try to win them all but you must not let him get too arrogant." Anika gasps at his concluding words and the man laughs loudly and brings his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close in a one-armed hug.

"He can be a stubborn man. His father speaks wisely, even if he is not as serious as he should be for this honor." The Wolf Clan Mother chides the man and Anika takes his hand briefly in a gesture of her understanding of his half-joking words. She is well aware of Sonehso:wa's stubborn nature and knows there will be times that she will not win disagreements with him.

The elders only detain them for a short time with their discussions on what is expected of them, knowing all in attendance are eager to commence with the dancing and singing that accompanies all weddings. The smell of grilling meats and fish had been wafting in from outside for some time. At last Anika and Sonehso:wa are given leave to join each other and they do so happily, twisting their fingers together and sneaking a quick kiss. Sonehso:wa takes a curly lock of hair from where it lies over Anika's shoulder and twists it between his fingers. Gaiachoton approaches with Sonehso:wa's weapons and belongings collected together into a large basket as the elders exit the longhouse. The chatter that had been going on outside diminishes and Gaiachoton says something to his son in a completely unfamiliar language to Anika. Sonehso:wa laughs and his father joins him. They are like a matched pair their features are so similar when they smile. The older man turns to Anika and places a hand affectionately on her shoulder.

"I told him I am proud of him but that if he does not treat you well I will send Katsi'tenhiyo over to whip him with a red willow branch until he has welts all over his body." Anika covers her mouth and laughs, somewhat shocked at his humorous threat. She believes Katsi'tenhiyo would gladly carry out that punishment and enjoy every moment of it.

"Thank you, father, for your concern. I hope I don't have to make use of Katsi'tenhiyo's whipping privilege." Gaiachoton smiles deeply at her words and her misuse of familial titles.

"I understand that it is the way of your culture for the families of both the husband and wife become one. That is not done here, yet somehow I know we will always be close and you will be as a daughter to me, just as Katsi'tenhiyo is. I could have lost Sonehso:wa when I moved here to be with my wife but he came with me even though he belongs to the sister of his mother and will always be a Deer. The Wolf Clan accepted him long ago as one of their own, even though he was not adopted and I am so happy that they welcomed the Bear Clan to their longhouse for the wedding as if he were one of their pups." He slaps his bemused son on his back and smiles at Anika, gesturing to the door of the longhouse.

"Take your new husband and go from here! We have had enough of him. He is the problem of the Bear Clan now!" He laughs robustly and Sonehso:wa shakes his head, clearly used to tolerating his father's antics. Anika gathers up her basket with Sonehso:wa's gifts in it and waits for Sonehso:wa to pick up his and take her by the hand. Gaiachoton leaves the longhouse first with Sonehso:wa's belongings and his appearance whips up the crowd into a loud cheer just in time for the new couple to exit. A steady beating of drums picks up and they are accompanied by it and most of the two clans to the Bear Clan longhouse to deposit their things as Sonehso:wa is officially moved into Anika's space there. They emerge and everyone cheers and claps their hands. The men start up a song as they move toward the communal fire pit in the center of the village. The Turtle Clan has joined them as well and their men lend their voices and instruments to the song.

Catherine stands with Connor and watches as Anika and Sonehso:wa emerge from the Bear Clan longhouse. Now that the formalities are over with, both of them appear much more relaxed. Beside her, Connor is dressed more formally than she had ever seen him. He wears a shirt with rows of red stitching crossed by white beading, a red belt and a hide breechclout. A large, beaded necklace hangs from his neck with a palm sized disc shaped pendant on it and two polished wooden armbands enclose his upper arms. His voice joins with the other men in the stirring song that fills the air. Every man in attendance is singing and the sound is rich and resonant with the many deep voices. Catherine watches Connor with fascination as he sings; he is smiling as he does, fully engrossed in the song by the time Anika and Sonehso:wa reach the fire pit. He is truly happy for his friend and it shows in his face and voice. When he speaks, his tone is usually soft and measured but now, it is as full of emotion and passion as she has only seen when he has been deeply moved. Catherine has experienced only three extremities of Connor's emotional spectrum: righteous anger, the most heartfelt love and an inestimable well of sadness. The rest of the time he confines the middling sentiments under a mask of calm composure. It is how she expects him to behave unless he is unusually pressed or unguarded. Seeing him so joyful and enthusiastic is like watching the sun break free of dense clouds to reveal the details of the world around her in a bounty of color. Catherine finds herself staring at him, drinking in the way his face has become so open to his happiness and seeing a sweet innocence in his eyes of the youth that was taken from him all those years ago. She wants to touch his face, to feel the spark of a life that, under different circumstances, might have been.

Connor turns to face Catherine and she is looking up at him open-mouthed, her eyes wide and intent on his face. She smiles at him with a soft exhalation and he takes his hand from hers and brings it around her waist, pulling her close as he sings. She hugs him tightly and then rests her hand on his chest over his heart. He isn't sure but it almost looked as if there were tears in her eyes before she hid her face against him. His voice falters for a moment and she looks up at him once more and Connor is reassured that it must have been his imagination.

The song draws to a close, making way for the feasting and festivities to begin. After eating, Catherine demurs from dancing until her two young companions from earlier approach excitedly. With a secret smile, she rises to her feet, strangely shy and unsure about Raonraon and Tsihskoko's persuasions and rather exaggerated begging. The music being played is one of the traditional women's dances and Connor can't help but smile when Catherine looks over her shoulder at him with a look of horror on her face as she is led away by both her hands by the girls. She appears to be laughing just before she is out of sight in the crowd and he squints, trying to see her through the throngs of people. When he catches sight of her, she is in the middle of the dancing, performing every step in time with the other women. No wonder she looked so suspicious. How long had she been practicing without him knowing? Anika runs over to her and squeezes in between the two girls and Catherine laughs with unbridled surprise and delight when she joins in the steps perfectly with a smug expression on her face while their two young companions giggle excitedly. Apparently Anika had been practicing secretly as well. Sonehso:wa is standing with his arms crossed over his chest, watching his bride as she and her sister and young friends dance and laugh with giddy abandon along with the rest of the women. Connor gets up and moves through the crowd to him.

Sonehso:wa tilts his head in the direction of the women.

"Did you know they could dance to our songs?" Connor shakes his head and shrugs his shoulders. His friend throws his head back and laughs loudly. Anika looks over in their direction and elbows Catherine, pointing to them. Anika waves her fingers coyly at her husband and Catherine opens her mouth in a round, surprised "O" shape with her eyebrows rising high on her forehead. She covers her mouth in mock embarrassment and then her laugh carries to Connor from across the distance. He only shakes his head at her with a narrow eyed smirk. So as not to be outdone by their women, both Connor and Sonehso:wa participate in the dancing with as much zeal as they can, much to the delight of Catherine and Anika.

The celebrations last far into the evening hours. Over on the outskirts of the crowd, Catherine catches Anika and Sonehso:wa creeping away stealthily from the celebrations and into the Bear Clan longhouse. They are not as undetected as they had hoped, for their bright white attire stands out even in the moonlight. No one stops them, though; they are more than happy to let the newlyweds go. Anika's words from the night before pierce Catherine more sharply than she had anticipated. Not only will she be sleeping alone tonight, she will do so knowing Anika is beginning a future with the man she loves by her side. With a sigh, she knows she only has herself to blame for being in this situation. Brushing aside her jealousy of her friend's happiness and attempting to hold onto the evening's atmosphere of celebration, Catherine smiles for Connor whenever he looks at her. Despite her attempts at conviviality, her melancholy only grows stronger as the night deepens.

At last, with a heavy heart, Catherine walks with Connor toward the Bear longhouse. He stops just outside the entrance and turns her to face him. He tugs on one of her braids lightly.

"You are not yourself tonight." Catherine smiles and looks at the ground.

"I'm fine," she contradicts. When Connor remains silent in the darkness, Catherine raises her head up. His eyes shine in the moonlight and his lips are slightly compressed. He studies her face with concern but does not press the subject. Instead, he cups her cheek with one hand and leans down to kiss her. His kiss is soft and light, neither lingering nor too short. When he draws back he once again gazes into Catherine's eyes, searching for anything further from her but she remains quiet and unyielding. She wants to throw herself into his arms and beg him to spend the night with her but she is afraid of appearing weepy and weak. The time at the cabin when she had been so miserable still makes her feel shameful and unattractive so she squares her shoulders and works harder at her façade. Connor speaks softly to her.

"Very well. You know where I am when you are ready to talk to me." Catherine feels a burst of irritation well up at his words. What has she been trying so hard for tonight if not to keep him from having to listen to her petty woes? The expression on Connor's face is heartbreaking when he turns away from her and walks toward the Wolf longhouse. She has disappointed him by not being honest. He knew she was lying and she did not change. He is out of sight by the time Catherine's odd ire fades and she whispers his name into the darkness.

Catherine looks down the length of the longhouse towards where she knows Anika and Sonehso:wa are lying together, probably making love. She knows she can't go in there. It would be too awkward. Instead, she wanders over toward the river and stares across its rushing breadth at the opposite shore. She doesn't know how long she stands there but when a shiver traverses her body in the chill of the night air, she finds the village silent and dark behind her. Unwilling to go inside, Catherine paces along the sandy shore with her arms around herself. She contemplates her strange emotional state.

Sadness grips her heart yet she knows it is unreasonable. She chose not to take the steps needed to marry Connor and she is happy for Anika and Sonehso:wa but somehow she had managed to avoid thinking logically about what her friend's marriage and future would mean for her. She knew she would be somewhat jealous and lonely while Anika sleeps so close by with Sonehso:wa. She knew it would be a difficult transition until the time comes for her to have Connor with her. Yet even after all the conversations with Anika and Ori'te:hiyo, the many times she had reminded herself that she has never loved anyone the way she loves Connor, she waits. What is she waiting for? She sighs and shakes her head. How can she be so sure of something yet so afraid of it at the same time? Her indecision causes tears to finally rise in her eyes. Whenever she thinks she is ready to take action, something terrifying and powerful drags her down again. It is as if she is anchored in place and if she tries to escape the tether it cuts into her painfully and threatens to rip her heart from her body.

Not for the first time, she wishes her father were still alive. She could tell him anything and he would listen to her and guide her when she needed it. She wonders if he would have called off the wedding if she had told him her worries. But he had been so weak by then she isn't so sure he could have borne the concept of leaving her without protection. Catherine shakes her head, frustrated. What is the sense of rehashing that argument anymore? There is none, and she dashes her angry tears away with her hand.

Her nervous anxiety makes her restless and she starts to wander along the river. She passes the large stone she and Connor like to sit on when they can find a few minutes to spend alone and picks her way over rocks and branches in the darkness. A man's voice startles her.

"You should not be out here." One of the men stationed outside to guard the village approaches her quietly. Compared to his light-footed steps, Catherine feels like a clumsy beast.

"I'm just walking."

"There are dangerous animals nearby. It is not safe. Go back." His voice is stern and he gestures with his bow towards the village.

"Alright." Catherine sighs as she turns around. She slowly makes her way back toward the big rock near the palisade. When she turns to sit on it the hunter who had directed her to return is nearby. She hadn't even heard him following her.

"You do not go in. Why?" He queries.

"I can't right now. I just… can't." The man nods his head, the motion barely discernable in the moonlight. He passes Catherine and continues on into the silent village, leaving her wondering what he is up to. She doesn't have long to wonder because a short time later Connor climbs up onto the rock carrying some furs. Immediately, all Catherine's worries and bothersome feelings of upheaval well up and choke out her voice. A quiet sound in the back of her throat is all she can manage and Connor kneels down and wraps her in one of the warm furs before folding her into his arms and holding her close.

"Why are you not able to sleep? Tell me what is wrong, WildCat…" He sounds tired and Catherine shakes her head against Connor's chest and squeezes a handful of his shirt in her fist with a tremulous inhalation. She feels guilty that he was woken up because of her troubles.

"I…just need to sort out my thoughts."

"What are you thinking about?" Catherine shakes her head again and doesn't answer.

"I cannot help if you do not tell me."

"There's nothing you can do to help me!" Catherine cries, her tears running down her cheeks and wetting Connor's shirt.

"I can try." Connor's voice remains low and steady despite Catherine's outburst.

"Why? It's all just in my head and… I don't know." Connor kisses her head and squeezes her shoulders.

"Because I love you; that is why. I would not be a good husband to you if I did not care about things like this." All the air leaves Catherine's lungs in a sigh and she closes her eyes tightly and tries to collect her thoughts. A long silence stretches before she can say anything.

"You aren't my husband. I want you to be but I'm unable to… do it. Anika and Sonehso:wa are so happy but I can't be near them tonight in our longhouse. I'm jealous of what they have because I can't have it. It sounds so petty when I say it but, my God… it hurts so much."

"You can have it. I am right here." Catherine sits up in his arms and wipes her face with both of her hands. Her dark eyebrows are gathered together on her forehead and display the depth of her concern.

"It's not that simple. I can't explain it. I can't understand it. It makes me angry and sad and then I take it out on you." Her voice has grown thick and watery from her tears.

"Then do not try to understand it. It does not change how I feel."

"That's part of why it's so upsetting. It isn't fair to you."

"Many things are unfair. What happened to you was unfair. What it has continued to do to you is unfair. But your love for me is not unfair. It means the same whether you are my wife or not. I am content with that." Catherine drops her forehead against his chest and nods. Her body trembles under his arms as she contains her weeping. Connor agonizes over Catherine's quandary. While he is truly content with whatever she is ready and willing to commit to, he worries about it consuming her. He has had a lot more time to learn how to compartmentalize what he doesn't understand and keep it from eating away at his psyche. He remembers when he was half as old as he is now. He was afraid and confused about many things. The road had been a long, difficult one to where he is today. Catherine will eventually have to face sleeping in her longhouse with Sonehso:wa there so he will do everything he can to help her through it. Tonight, though, he needs to keep her as far from what pains her as possible. At least he can do that.

The stars above tell Connor that it is well past midnight and there is not much night left. Lack of sleep will only make Catherine's emotional state more fragile so he gently sits her back and spreads out the other furs he brought on the flat rock. She takes off her necklace and armband and sets them safely to the side where they will not fall into the river before lying down with her body against his. When he pulls a fur over them and brings his arm around her she takes it in both of her hands and holds it tightly to her chest. Her warm breaths swirl around his fingers and she kisses them softly a few times, tucking his hand under her chin and against her neck afterward. Her heart beats against his wrist as he allows himself to relax into sleep.

Catherine wakes up just as Connor does and they both wince from the uncomfortably hard surface of the rock. They sit up and watch the color of the sky reflecting off the surface of the river as the sun begins to rise. As the sounds of the village waking up starts to carry to them, they gather up their things and slowly make their way toward the palisade. At the entrance to the Bear longhouse Catherine hesitates but Connor urges her to go inside with a gentle nudge of his elbow against the back of her upper arm. She looks up at him doubtfully but he lowers his head in a slow nod of firm expectation. Catherine walks slowly inside and quietly approaches her section. Her eyes are drawn to Anika and Sonehso:wa's side despite her best efforts to keep them strictly to the floor and her own sleeping area. Their white clothing is folded neatly and stacked on the upper shelf over their bed along with their baskets from the wedding and all of Sonehso:wa's things. Catherine's eyes drop to the blankets and furs tangled around the couple's legs and partially covering their lower bodies. Anika lies on her back and her arm is up over her head. Her face is turned toward the middle of the longhouse and is framed by her hair, which lies in a golden heap around her neck and beside her body. Even in deep sleep she is the prettiest woman Catherine has ever known. Sonehso:wa lies mostly on his stomach with an arm thrown carelessly over Anika's body, his hand spanning the side of her ribcage just below one of her perfect breasts. Sonehso:wa's long, black hair covers some of his back and shoulders but a lot of it has fallen down beyond Catherine's view into the shadowy space between his body and the side of the longhouse.

Catherine deliberately turns her back to them and faces her sleeping area. Several furs and her blanket are spread out neatly, ready for her to use them, no doubt the work of Anika. A small smile flickers across her mouth as she thinks about Anika taking the time to do such a thing for her when she could have just used every moment for herself and her husband. Quickly, she changes out of her clothes from the night before into a soft, hide skirt and a more casual top. She hangs her jewelry up and puts away her discarded clothes on the shelf. When she turns around to leave, neither Anika nor Sonehso:wa have moved so Catherine quietly leaves them alone. Connor is waiting for her outside.

"You survived!" He smiles at her.

"Don't rub salt in it..." Catherine mumbles at him as they walk to the Wolf longhouse to eat breakfast with Gaiachoton, Ori:te'hiyo and Katsi'tenhiyo.

Soft scraping sounds wake Connor from his sleep and he sits up suddenly, reaching for his knife lying on the wooden platform built high above the ground in a large oak, defensive of his vulnerable position where he had been lying curled around Catherine's sleeping form. He leans over and looks carefully over the edge only to see Sonehso:wa's face turned up to him. Connor pulls the blanket over to cover Catherine's nakedness, knowing she would not want his friend to see her in an "indisposed state" as she would say. He eases his body away from hers to get to his feet and pull his pants on. Sonehso:wa seems concerned where he has propped himself in a vee of the tree's branches so the two men climb down and walk a short distance away to converse.

"Brother, I checked the birds today. There is a new one and it had this attached to it." His face is grave as he lifts his hand, a tiny roll of paper between two of his fingers.

"I do not know what this means but it sounds bad. Or maybe good. For her." He nods in the direction of Catherine where still sleeps and gestures to the rolled up message. With dread in his heart, Connor takes it from his friend's hand. He knew this day would come. He had delayed his return as long as he had dared, knowing that every day he stays brings him closer to an urgent request for his direction. It seems that day has arrived.

Connor reads the short missive and carefully rerolls the shred of paper with a hard set to his jaw.

"My men need me. I have lingered too long here. I only hope we can stop this before it goes too far. I must wake Catherine and tell her." He takes his friend's shoulder in his outstretched hand.

"I am sorry, brother, that I must take the sister of your wife away so soon after your wedding."

"It must be done." Sonehso:wa nods without even a trace of his usual pomp and watches as Connor walks resolutely toward the tree and starts to climb up. He reaches Catherine and kneels down by her side to wake her with a hand on her shoulder. She sits up and Sonehso:wa disappears into the forest to give them privacy.

Only a few days had passed since Sonehso:wa and Anika had been married yet Connor and Catherine had spent most of those nights outside of the village on the platform in the woods. Anika had confronted Catherine the moment she saw her the day after her wedding. For the first time in years, Catherine had lied to her friend, assuring her that she and Connor had planned to give the newlyweds privacy on their wedding night days earlier. Ori:te'hiyo found her later and assured her that she was welcome in her section of the Wolf longhouse any time. Her eyes had driven home that "any time" included overnight stays. But Connor had other plans. The nights were still cool but he decided to set up a sleeping area on one of the many platforms built in the trees around the outside of the village. The one he selected had an easily climbable tree, even for Catherine, and she had been delighted with his idea.

When Catherine finishes reading the tiny note, comprised of several incomplete sentences containing cryptic information, she hands it back to Connor and pulls the blanket higher up under her armpits.

"Who's Aveline?"

"She is a high ranking Assassin in the Southern part of this land. I worked with her once shortly after the start of the war. Jamie must have contacted her when he found out Sergio had left New York under mysterious circumstances. If she has information she will only speak of in person, it must be dire. I will send word to my men that we are coming and request my ship from Davenport so it will be waiting for us in New York when we get there." He points to a line of numbers at the bottom of the paper.

"These are a date and coordinates for where we will meet with her. There is not much time. We must leave today." Catherine's eyes are wide with anxiety yet in the depths of them there is a firm note of anger that smokes and burns. It makes Connor uneasy. He takes her upper arm just below her shoulder in his left hand and clasps it tightly enough to get her full attention.

"You remember what you promised me… and why?" He looks into Catherine's eyes and searches them.

"Yes." Some of the fire fades from her and her lips compress ever so slightly.

"Do not forget it." Connor releases her arm to lightly caress her cheek with his fingertips. He then stands up to finish dressing. Catherine is subdued as she gathers her clothes up from where they had been dropped the evening before. What will happen if she encounters Sergio? The thought makes her intensely sick to her stomach.


End file.
